


Sawdust and Starry Eyes

by ThisWasInevitable



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Circus, Alternate Universe - Historical, Anal Sex, Campaign: Amnesty (The Adventure Zone), Canon-Typical Violence, Cock Warming, Dirty Talk, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Impact Play, Kissing, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Pining, Rating will change, Reader request, Slow Burn, Trans Duck Newton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:47:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 53,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22671226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisWasInevitable/pseuds/ThisWasInevitable
Summary: Joseph Stern is at a crossroads the night Amnesty Circus comes to town, looking for a means out of the mundane life he feels trapped in. Barclay, humble cook, is happy to help him out. But the circus turns out to offer more mysteries, more danger, and more romance than Joseph anticipated, and he's caught up in the midst of things he doesn't fully understand.Indrid Cold understands some things perfectly. Others not so much. He does not understand where he stands with Duck Newton, the man he cares for beyond words. He does not understand what role, exactly, the newcomer to their circus has to play. And he does not understand the rolling, seething mass lurking at the edges of his visions, searching for them all.
Relationships: Barclay/Agent Stern (The Adventure Zone), Indrid Cold/Duck Newton
Comments: 34
Kudos: 140





	1. The Greatest Show

**Author's Note:**

> A reader requested a Circus Au, so here we go!
> 
> A note on the period: I'm not including any period typical homophobia or transphobia, although Stern tries to tamp down his feelings due to family views on what constitutes a "normal" life.

The spring of 1931 has been catastrophic thus far. 

Joseph Stern has lost his job at the First National Bank of San Francisco, lost the little apartment he called his own, and is one blow to his resolve away from losing his pride by taking his father up on a job offer. 

Are there many men in the city who would have William Hayes Stern, Chief of Police, offer them a job on the force? Yes. Is Joseph one of them? Absolutely not. 

Perhaps if he were still sixteen, bright eyed and in awe of the idea of protecting the city, of ensuring that justice was done and no mystery was left unsolved, it would be a different story. But in the intervening decade, he’s seen the truth of how his father and the force operates. 

He wants to protect people. But not as part of a system where justice is an afterthought at best. 

So here he lays on this dull, foggy June morning, face up in his childhood bedroom and wondering how in god’s name he can find a job that won’t grind him to bonedust beneath it’s heel in a matter of days. There are murmurs that one of the banks is hiring, but he’d rather not return to that life. Banking was an easy out for a bright boy from a good family looking to move into manhood. He has no love for it, no desire to return to the drudgery of numbers. 

He waits for the sound of his father departing for the morning and his mother calling that she is going to store before he ventures from the bedroom. There’s a bowl of oatmeal waiting for him, a peace offering from his mother, stuck in the unhappy position of wanting to support her son without angering her husband. 

Eating quickly, he turns his attention first to the house, tidying and sweeping and washing. It calms him, soothes his troubled pride and growing guilt. 

The entire first floor spotless, he allows himself a break, picks up the paper and settles with a cup of coffee. Turns first to the want ads and, finding nothing promising, flips back to the front page. Reads it mindlessly until he spies a headline in the bottom left corner of page ten. 

**No Clues in Disappearance of Father of Six**

_La Jolla, June 1st_

_Police continue to investigate the mysterious disappearance of Oscar Brown, age 35. Brown was last seen by his wife going out for a drive along West Canyon rd. Brown was an avid painter and often used the canyon as a spot to practice his hobby. His car was found in the canyon after his frantic wife reported him missing. The roof had been torn off, and a door was missing. There was no sign of Brown, and after a weeks investigation police are still asking that anyone with clues to his whereabouts come forward._

Something about the report taps at his memory, but before he can place why a far louder tap (more of a pounding, really) comes from the front door. 

“Joey!” A gleaming smile and slicked blonde hair greets him when he opens it.

“Frank, for the last time, I hate that name.”

“Aw, c’mon, a man can’t go by ‘Joseph’ all the time. It’s too formal.” 

Joseph crosses his arms “I can and I will. More to the point, why are you banging on the door like there’s a fire?”

“Look at this!” The other man flourishes a poster coated in garish red letters. 

**Come one, Come All!  
The Amazing, Extraordinary Amnesty Circus is not to be Missed!  
See! The Wondrous Cryptonomica!  
Awe! At incredible feats of strength!  
Behold! The Incredible Lady Flame  
Marvel! At the daring Aquatic Man!  
And so Much More!**

“What do you think? Sounds really keen, right?” 

“Right.” Joseph nods absentmindedly. He’s captivated by the poster; in spite of the overblown prose and bright type, the artistry is incredible. Rather than trying to showcase each element, it offers sharp silhouettes of the promised attractions, tantalizing in their mystery.

“So you’ll come with me?”

He ought to say no. Money is already scarce in his pockets, and it’s hardly a professional or intelligent use of his time. 

But there’s another part of him making it’s case. The same part that keeps dime novels and tales of the weird and unusual under his bed. That spots odd lights in the sky, keeps track of all the legends and newspaper reports of strange things lurking in the woods and the water. 

“Sure, it could be fun.”

“Great! Date with Betty here I come.”

“What?” Joseph gets a sinking feeling. 

“She only wanted to go if I could find a date for Bessy, her friend."

“Frank, I don’t want to go on a date.”

“Relax, Bessy’s a real dish.”

“I’m sure she is, but the fact remains I am not interested in her. But,” he sighs, “Since that seems to be a condition of going, I think I can survive an evening.”

Frank winks at him, “Great, see you at six sharp.”

\-----------------------------

Joseph is underwhelmed. 

The circus consists of the bigtop surrounded by only a few tents and a single food stand. Though, judging by smell and the line of people winding away from it, the latter is worth a visit. 

It was silly, of course, to assume a place that’s ultimately about making money would live up to the strange, siren song of the poster. 

Or, maybe he’s just feeling a bit jaded, given that Frank, Betty, and Bessy have all failed to understand the reasoning behind him avoiding a life on the police force. 

“Oooooh!” Betty claps her hands together,“Look, a fortune teller! Can we go, we could all get our palms read, won’t that be swell?”

Frank loops his arm around Betty’s shoulder, “anything for my girl.”

Joseph holds back from mentioning that all fortune telling comes down to trickery and learning to read the right signs people give off. It wouldn’t do to be a kill-joy so early in the night. 

They duck between maroon tent flaps, under a sign announcing it as the home of “Monsieur Luna, Seer and Soothsayer extraordinaire. Just as Joseph drops the fabric closed behind him, a figure emerges through a second set of curtains. 

“Welcome.” Says a not at all French voice. 

As his eyes adjust to the gloom, Joseph finds the lilting voice coming from a lanky man with an angular face and silvery air. Red glasses sit on his nose, hiding his eyes, and he’s draped in a shawl of rich golds and pinks. 

“Since you all wish to have your fortunes read together, please step this way.” He draws the curtain aside, gesturing for them to pass through.

The second room contains a small table with two chairs. A crystal ball, a Tarot deck, a few small candles sit upon a dusty red cloth.

“Who is first?” Luna sits, hands folded on the table.

Betty and Bessy exchange a giggly look, then Betty sits down and holds out her palm.

“Hmmm.” The seer purses his lips, “You have many concerns about domestic life. You long for stability, for a warm home with children running about and an attentive husband.”

Betty nods, grinning

“You will have all those things. Provided” he holds up one finger, pointing at the air above him, “You do not take a street car ride on the 16th of June. If you take that ride, you will have no future to speak of. So, keep that in mind.” He offers a tight smile and Betty frowns before standing up

Bessy takes her place, hand firmly in her lap. The seer draws the crystal ball in front of him, rubs his hands across it in a slow circle. 

“I see….a sickbed. Not for you, for someone you love. Your father, yes?”

“Yes, how-”

“Odds are quite good he will improve. Oh, and that mirror you lost this afternoon is under the bed in your friend's room.”

“Thank you.” Bessy stands, looking relieved. 

“Anyone else?” The seer looks to Joseph and Frank.

“No thanks. Gotta get these ladies some food before the show. Right, Joey?”

“Uhhum. I’ll catch up with you all in a moment.” 

Frank shrugs and ushers the two women out.

“How did you know about the mirror?” Joseph stays standing when he addresses the fortune teller. 

“Why, I see all, my dear sir.”

“Oh please, all you have to do is eavesdrop, look at how a person is dressed, what they’re carrying, and be a bit vague to get one over on most people. But there was nothing to indicate she was missing a mirror, or that it was important to her. She only complained about losing her grandmother's hand mirror while I was putting on my coat at home.”

The man looks at him. Then slowly, like a moonrise, an eerie smile spreads across his face. 

“You are an observant young man, Joseph Stern. And you have some knowledge of the, shall we say, disreputable art of showman-ship.”

“How do you know my name?” 

The man just taps his glasses, smile growing, “The same way I know that, if you come backstage after the show tonight and ask for Mama, you will find a solution to your money woes. A job that I foresee you being well-suited to. Or, of course, you can ignore me entirely and be a member of the police force by the end of next week. Your choice.” His regal bearing drops and he lounges back in the chair. 

Good god, maybe the man is the genuine article. He’s heard of such cases, but never thought he'd find one in a rinky-dink circus.

“I have more visitors arriving in a moment. If you decide to investigate the offer, tell them Indrid sent you.” He waves politely, and Joseph takes that as his cue to exit. 

It takes him a moment to shake off the eerie feeling Indrid left him with. Someone articulating his predicament so clearly is not a pleasant experience. No wonder most fortune tellers stick to platitudes and vague predictions. 

“About damn time!” Frank waves him over into the line for food, “thought I was gonna have to spring for all the food.”

“Sorry.” Stern digs into his pockets and thanks heaven that popcorn is cheap. Bessy says nothing to him as they wait, seemingly lost in thought. 

He reaches the counter as Frank and Betty step aside.

“One pop...corn” His mind grinds to a halt even as his heart beats double-time.

Waiting patiently for his order is one of the most handsome men he’s ever seen. Tall, broad-chested, a tidy beard and auburn hair tucked under a cap framing full lips and deep brown eyes. 

“Please.” He adds softly. 

“Sure thing.” The man smiles, turning his back to fill the box and giving Joseph a sense of what, exactly, a well-fitting pair of jeans can do for a man's assets.

He’d been doing so well, too. 

It’s not that sex, or even love, between two men is unheard of. He’s seen men standing arm in arm outside churches, beaming sunshine and rainbows at each other. Kissing on rainy afternoons beneath umbrellas. But such things are not for him. The Sterns do things by a certain set of rules, and those rules strictly state that if you’re a man, you take a wife. Regardless of how you feel on the matter. 

“Here you go.” The man hands him the box, smile no less heart-bursting the second time, “Enjoy the show.”

“Thanks so much.” Stern takes Bessy’s hand and hurries them inside. Realizes belatedly he hasn’t gotten to see the Cryptonomica, but doesn’t dare stand up again for fear of revealing a rather embarrassing situation in his pants. He’s only just preserving his dignity by crossing his legs. 

Good lord, he hasn’t felt that hot under the collar since he was seventeen and on his back in a barroom that shall remain nameless. 

“Oooh, it’s starting.” Bessy giggles excitedly, and he shifts his attention to the center ring.

A spotlight illuminates a bearded man in a bright green and black pin-striped suit.

“Good evening distuinghed denizens of this fair city! Welcome to the greatest show on earth! Prepare to be amazed by our festival of delights and wonders, beauties and beasts! We shall show you feats never before seen! Behold!” The booming voice directs their attention to a high dive with a tiny trough of water below it.

“Please, thunderous applause for the remarkable man-seal!”

A young man appears on the diving board, waving excitedly to the crowd. 

“My friends, as you can see, this pool below is no more than a foot deep!” The ringleader dips his cain into the silver trough, demonstrating he cannot push it far, “Yet not only will he dive accurately, he will remain unharmed even as he plunges into the shallow depths.”

A drumroll sounds off, and the man takes his position with a final wave.

He bounces once, twice, and then elegantly dives into the waiting air. 

The audience gasps, only to cheer uproariously when he disappears into the water. He emerges a moment later with a loud “woohoo!”

“Amazing! And now, prepare to be awed by the feats of a man who would be Hercules to shame!” 

The applause is joined by a few lewder sounds when a man clad only in a pair of green shorts steps into the light. He too waves, more perfunctorily than the previous performer. 

“My friends, you are about to witness acts that would frighten and cripple a lesser man! By the end of the evening, you will believe a man can have the strength of a demi-god, nay, a god!”

Joseph might be imagining it, but it looks as though the strongman mouths, “get to the damn point.”

The act isn’t much at first, the man lifting increasingly large dumbbells.

Then they bring out the horse. 

As the ringmaster says something about not attempting this in ones domicile, the strongman pets the horses muzzle, takes his position and, with little sign of struggle, lifts the horse above his head.

“Oh my goodness.” Bessy gasps.

The man carefully lowers the animal back down, patting it’s flank fondly and offering it something from his palm. 

“And now, for his greatest trick, I must ask you all to remain calm.”

In spite of this request, there are multiple shrieks of alarm when a black bear lumbers into the ring. When it rears up on it’s back legs, Joseph worries they’re about to witness an unintended moment of violence. 

Instead, the strongman shakes his head, and points to the ground. 

With a huffy, low sound, the bear sits down. Laughs from the crowd. The man circles it, as if looking for the best angle. The bear rolls on its side and the man shoves his hands beneath it, wobbles for an instant, and hoists the immense mammal into the air to deafening cheers. 

When the bear is safely back on the ground, they both bow and make their exit. Joseph watches them go, catches a flicker of two red circles ducking out of the side entrance and back into the night. 

Next up is a woman with streaks of grey in her hair and a long green coat, who the ringmaster declares the “the best markswoman to ever come from West Virginia!”

Joseph senses her act, while impressive, is clearly filler for something much bigger, assistants and performers darting about in the shadows. 

The sharp-shooter exits, and all the remaining lights go out.

“And now, honored guests, prepare yourselves for the magnificent, astonishing, tremendous...Lady Flame!”

A burst of fire in the center ring and the entire audience leans back in shock. Out of the flames steps a young woman, black hair streaked with red and piled beneath a glittery black top-hat. Her leotard and tail-coat are swirled with brilliant red and inky black, and she bows while tipping her hat off her head. 

When the straightens, the hat remains upside down. She reaches in with a wink, and produces an immense rabbit, complete with a red bow-tie. The crowd oohs politely. 

Then the rabbit bursts into flames. 

“Jesus.” Joseph knew magicians tricks could be lethal to their animals, but this seems excessive. 

The flaming rabbit seems to hover in the air as The Lady Flame steps back and admires it, snaps her fingers and the flames become blue, then deep purple. 

Behind her another woman, blonde hair cascading down her green leotard and skirt, steps into the ring to a chorus of whistles. The Lady Flame turns, her face turning comically love-struck. She bows, pulling a single red rose from thin air. 

The blonde shakes her head.

The magician taps her chin, then snaps her fingers with an “aha!”

With a wave of a black-gloved hand, a stunning black pearl necklace appears in a puff of smoke. Another shake of the head, and the treasure disappears. 

The magician turns, spies the still on fire rabbit, and claps her hands excitedly. She plucks it from the air and blows on it. Instantly, the flame is gone, and a completely unharmed rabbit snuffles up at her. 

When she presents the rabbit to the object of her affection, the woman beams, and gathers the rabbit into a hug. The magician gives the audience another wink. 

Joseph ought to be more impressed by the trick that follow, the magician and her lovely assistant sending the rabbit through flaming hoops, making a phoenix dance through the tent, and coaxing a swirling orange dragon from a single match. But he’s stuck on the rabbit trick; there was no misdirection, no way for her to hide or swap out the creature. How in the world did she do that?

As the magician and her assistant bow and exit to cheers for more, the ringmaster takes up his position once again.

“That brings our stupendous show to a close! Remember, if you were bedazzled and bewitched by what you saw here, tell your friends! Tell your enemies! Tell everyone! Thank you and a wonderful night to you all!”

As the crowd rises and shuffles towards the exits, Frank turns to him with a swagger, “Well, I don’t know about you, but that put me in a mood a little moonlit stroll.”

“I’m not, actually. I, uh, I have to go see a woman about a job offer.”

“A what? Hey, Joey, get back here!”

He happily ignores his friend, slipping between the throng and around the main tent until he finds a circle of trailers and trucks, to the far right of which sits a smaller brown tent. The the flap he sees costumes and props strewn about; a staging area. When he steps to the door, it’s a man’s drawl he hears first.”

“....just drags on. You know I hate standin out there, Ned.”

“Ah, but my friend, it’s your moment in the limelight, don;t you wish to savor it?”

“No. Oh, uh, howdy.” The strongman, now clothed in a green shirt and worn jeans, spots Joseph, “You get turned around or somethin? This area’s off limits if you ain’t a performer.”

“I’m looking for someone called Mama.”

“That’d be me, but I ain’t inclined to say more until you say why you’re lookin for me.” The sharpshooter looks up from where she’s whittling a small duck. 

“I was told there was the possibility of finding employment with your circus.”

Mama takes in his clothes, and he feels uncomfortably well dressed, “Bit old to be runnin away with the circus, ain;t you?” She smirks. 

“It would just be well you’re in town. I’m in need of a job and-”

“What makes you think we got one?”

“Indrid sent me?” Now seems like the time to pull out that phrase. 

Every head in the room swivels to a haybale, atop which sits Indrid, drawing in a notebook and oblivious to the world around him. 

“Hmmm? Oh, he’s early. Yes, Mama, I think this young man may be quite useful. We’ve been short handed since Reno.” Indrid goes back to his drawing.

“I’m not afraid of hard work, and I’m a quick study. I don’t have much more to make my case then that.”

“Lemme think it over for a moment.” Mama picks up her carving and takes the knife to it, leaving Joseph to stand awkwardly before the collected circus staff. 

“Can you do magic, or work with animals? That might help your case.” The magician’s assistant turns to look at him, head resting in the Lady Flame’s lap.

“No, unfortunately, I-good lord, isn’t that a bit dangerous?” This he says as the strongman finishes feeding the bear an apple from his palm.

“I mean, he ain’t a kitten, and I ain’t gonna cuddle up with him anytime soon. But he’s known me since he was a cub. We got an understandin, don’t we Magnus?”

He’s about to ask how one comes to have a bear cub in the first place when Indrid says, “Duck spirited him away from a far crueler circus many years ago.”

“Jesus, Indrid, makes me sound like a no-good thief.”

“Oh, my apologies. I thought it spoke highly of your character.” Indrid wilts a little. 

Duck is about to respond when a soft baritone asks, “You cook at all?”

When he turns, the cook from the food stall is smiling kindly at him. He’s seated on a costume box, mending a pair of pinstriped pants. It’s a mercy that his choice of seat kept him from Joseph’s view upon entering the tent; he’d never have gotten two words out to Mama otherwise.

“I can, uh, I’m decent in a kitchen. At least as well as any single man who doesn’t want to live on tinned meat his whole life.”

A puff of laughter, “Fair enough.”

Mama stabs her knife into the dir and crosses to him with a decisive stride, “Alright son, here’s the truth of the matter: Amnesty ain’t no P.T Barnum show, don’t take much scratchin at our glitz and glamour before you hit dirt. We can’t pay much, unless things go real well, in which case we all make a bit extra. You’d get one day off a week, be workin sunrise to after sunset, might be roped into all manner of chicanery, and get covered in more grime, sweat, shit, and possibly blood than I care to mention. How’s that sound?” 

He steals a final glance at the cook, strong fingers sewing deftly and sleeves rolled up to show a considerable amount of muscle. The other man catches him staring, offers a small, encouraging now.

“That sounds like just my kind of job.”

Mama extends a hand and he shakes it.

“Well then, Joseph, welcome to Amnesty.”


	2. Bitter and Sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stern learns the ropes. Duck reminisces. Barclay makes a discovery.

Barclay stretches awake to the sounds of the city, wishes not for the first time that he could wake up to birdsong the way he used to. 

Damn gate, deciding to up and move around rather than stay in West Virginia like it was supposed to. 

He stands, makes his regular circuit of his trailer, washing his face and brushing his beard and hair down from their nighttime muss. 

There are two sharp knocks on the door as he’s changing. When he opens it, sans shirt, the man they hired yesterday is standing before him. Intelligent blue eyes sparkle in sync with a polite smile, widen for an instant before schooling themselves back to a respectable size.

“Good morning.”

“Morning.”

“Apologies if I woke you, Mama said I was to come straight to you in the mornings.”

“Makes sense, I do most of the heavy lifting when it comes to chores and cooking, on account of I don’t have an act. Guess Mama figured I’d get the most use out of you. It’s Joseph, right?” 

The dark-haired man nods.

“Nice to meet you Joseph. I’m Barclay.” He offers his hand, and notices a distinct lack of callouses when Joseph shakes it. Yeah, he’s going to have a rough first week. 

“Well, let’s get going then.” He grabs his shirt, buttons it as walks out into the morning air, “First we gotta check the animals, then we’ll start breakfast.”

Joseph follows him quietly, though his eyes drink in every detail of the tents and the trailers, as if searching for something. When they reach the truck housing Winnie and the cage housing Magnus, the horse needs fresh water.

He hands Joseph a bucket, “There’s a spigot on the far end of the main tent.”

“Got it.” His new assistant hurries away. Soft hands or no, the man must keep himself fit; he’s got an ass Barclay would love to sink his teeth into.

Easy, Barclay. God knows he’s seen exactly how bad romance can go in this line of work. Then again, there’s no rule that says he has to get attached to someone to bend them over a barrel and fuck them into next week. 

Joseph returns with the bucket, pours it into Winnie's empty trough. 

“Is there anything else we need to do for them?”

“Nope. I check ‘em in the morning for water and to make sure they’re okay, but Duck handles feeding and takes care of them otherwise. Not like I’m complaining.” He glances over at Magnus, nosing a ball that Duck’s dug several holes in and stuffed bits of jerky into across the ground, “I like having both my hands.”

“He seems rather tame.” Joseph keeps a safe distance from the cage as he speaks.

“For Duck, maybe. I think something about me makes him nervous, so I give him space.”

“Maybe it’s your size. You’re rather, uh, intimidating looking, and bigger than Duck.”

Barclay chuckles, “You intimidated by me, Joseph?”

“Not at all.” Blue eyes lock onto his own, and for a moment he wonders if this is really the same man who could barely order food from him last night.

“That because I don’t seem like the fighting type, or because you think you could, uh, take me?” 

“Both.” Joseph grins playfully. 

Barclay steps so they’re toe to toe, drawing attention to the four or so inches he has on him in height, the contrast between Joseph’s leaner form and his broader one. 

“You sure?”

“I learned how to fight, courtesy of my father’s career plan for me. You don’t strike me as a fighter. In fact, you seem rather gentle.”

A bang of Ned’s trailer door closing announces the rest of the crew waking for breakfast. Barclay takes a half-step back. 

“Heh, trust me, if you’ve had to deal with as many unsatisfied Cryptonomica customers as I have, you get real good at fighting. C’mon,” he slaps Joseph’s shoulder, “time to get cooking.”

Breakfast is easily his favorite part of his day; his friends gather around the stove or a small fire, chatting and joking over their coffee cups in the morning light as he turns flour and fat into something that will make them smile. 

This morning is oatmeal, as he hasn’t had time to make a market run since they arrived in San Francisco. Luckily, there are still some strawberries left over from their last farm stand stop two days ago. He slices them into the bowls as Joseph minds the oatmeal and keeps it from burning. 

“You mind droppin a few of those into a separate bowl? Gonna go see if Indrid’s up yet.” 

Barclay hands him a bowl of berries that he already set aside in anticipation of his friend’s sweet tooth. Duck takes it with a nod, heads back towards the trailers. 

“I take it Mr.Luna is a bit of a late riser?” Joseph scrapes down one side of the pot. 

“Luna? Oh, uh, Indrid’s last name is actually Cold. Ned thought that wasn’t mysterious enough.”

“Just looking out for our bottom line, my friend.” Ned raises his coffee cup in cheers, “Speaking of which, we ought to get the Cryptonomica dusted and polished as soon as we can.”

“Already on the list.”

“Really?” Joseph brightens, an excited smile replacing the polite one, “I missed out on it last night and I’m curious about what it contains, .”

Mama chuckles from across the circle, “Wouldn’t get my hopes too high if I were you.”

\------------------------------------------------------

Indrid isn’t in his seers tent when Duck arrives, and so he sits in one of the wooden chairs, picking up the Tarot deck and shuffling it.

The cards are familiar in his hands, he knows the small tears and bent corners well, could name the details of each image with his eyes closed. 

Were it two years ago, he’d pick out a card and leave it at the top of the deck as a secret message for Indrid to find, to make that crescent moon smile break across his face. 

He knows their meanings. After all, he had a good teacher. 

_“....Mystery and illusion, c’mon now ‘Drid, that was an easy one.” The train cabin is dark, the two of them relying on moonlight to help Duck see the cards._

_“I would counter they are all easy for you now. You are a quick study, Duck.” Indrid grins proudly, stacks the cards back into their tidy pile._

_Duck hadn’t mean to learn Tarot. His questions about which cards meant what began as a way of passing the dull hours on train or truck rides. One that let him sit close to the strange, captivating creature that was (is) Indrid Cold. But it soon became a game between them, Indrid testing him on spreads, what a card meant if it was up versus when it was reversed._

_“Ain’t ever gonna be as good as you.” Duck scoots closer on the floor._

_“You know as well as I that my skill with these is a natural extension of my ability to see the future.” A mischievous grin, “Perhaps we should trade places. Drape you in flowing robes and have me standing in nothing but my underclothes.”_

_“Wouldn’t mind that second part much.”_

_His boldness is rewarded by a low purr from Indrid, “Then again, I would make a poor strongman. I do not possess nearly as wonderful a physique as you.”_

_“‘Drid, you could lift me with one hand.”_

_“In my true form, yes, but not as I am now. Besides, what would Ned proclaim during my act? I am hardly herculean.”_

_“My friends, behold, the wondrous Man-Moth!” Duck’s impression of Ned’s bluster sends a cackle rattling out of Indrid’s chest._

_“He will perform feats of never seen before! Like eatin an entire box of sugar-cubes, or drawin dirty pictures of the strongman.”_

_Indrid gasps, mock affronted, “How dare you air my darkest secrets to the crowd.”_

_“Aha! I thought I caught you drawin me with no clothes, and now I know.”_

_A chirring, embarrassed sound as Indrid says, “That was a dirty trick, Duck Newton. For my final feat, I shall carry you up and out the roof of the tent for exposing me so.”_

_“Like to see you try-AH!” He laughs as Indrid tackles him to the ground._

_“Is that what you’d like, Duck? For me to carry you away.” Indrid brushes their noses together._

_“So goddamn much.” Duck closes the half-inch between them. It’s as gentle and as tender as first kiss ought to be, their lips learning the shape of each other and teasing at the promise of more._

_When Indrid pulls back, pressing their joined hands to his cheek, he whispers, “simply say the word, and it will be so.”_

Duck looks down at the card he pulled while reminiscing. It’s the lovers, because of course it fucking is. 

“Bullshit.” He mutters, sliding the card to the bottom of the deck. 

A solid swish of fabric announces Indrid coming in the front of the tent. 

“Good morning Duck.” He calls before he even sees him, a little ahead as always. When he appears, in his simple white shirt and loose pants, Duck nudges the bowl to draw his eye to it.

“Thank you. I overslept, and if I want time to watch the futures carefully for signs of the abomination I need to skip the trip to the breakfast tent. Now it seems fate has smiled on me.”

“Nope, just a friend who felt like doin you a favor.”

Indrid laughs, awkward and soft, “I do have a few minutes to spare. Would you like to stay and talk?”

Duck stands, shaking his head, “Nope. Gotta go work with Magnus for awhile.”

Had Indrid arrived sooner, saving him from getting lost in his memories, the answer would be different. As it stands, he waves sharply with a “see you later,” and leaves without looking back. 

\-------------------------------------------

Mama was right. The Cryptonomica is deeply disappointing. In the three, poorly lit sections of the tent, the most interesting things are the live rabbits with false antlers strapped to their heads, flopping about beneath a sign declaring them great plains Jackalopes.

“Dr. Harris Bonkers, Aubrey’s rabbit, got into a dalliance with a wild rabbit a few months back and promptly gave birth to these.” Is all Ned offers as explanation. 

Joseph and Barclay divide the cleaning in the tent, giving him some much needed time to think as he cleans the glass cases full of obvious fakes like devil babies and Fiji mermaids.

He’s perilously close to full-on flirtation with Barclay, their conversation flowing easy and friendly. But the friendly teasing has turned to something sharper edged, and if Joseph doesn’t walk that edge carefully, he will fall full force into a delicious kind of hell. Because as much as he wants to know Barclay, in all senses of the word, he swore of sex with men several years ago, to prepare himself for the inevitability of a life without it once his father cornered him into a marriage.

As he finishes dusting a case of “genuine man-ape prints” he resolves to dial back their interactions to mere cordiality, rather than anything warmer. 

And for gods sake, he needs to make sure they’re not in close quarters. Joseph is not a small man, but something about Barclays size is at once comforting and pants-tenting, especially when they're standing close together.

“Ready to start cooking, Joseph?” Barclay stands at the tent entrance, rag slung over his shoulder.

“Of course.” He falls into step beside Barclay, and the taller man regales him with a story of one of the ‘Jackalopes’ running off with an entire bag of popcorn. Joseph listens so intently that he fails to notice where they’re going until Barclay walks up the five steps to a trailer and holds the door open.

“After you.”

It’s the food stall from the night before. 

The very small food stall. 

Barclay frowns, “You okay? Look kinda nervous.”

“Oh, uh, no, I’m fine. Just getting my bearings.” He enters the trailer, takes in the popcorn machine, icebox, and-

“Is that a cotton candy machine?”

“Yep!” Barclay pats the the barrel, “Picked her up a couple of months ago, and she’s paid for herself ten times over. And, she’s going to be your best pal tonight. If it’s me alone, I can only really manage drinks, peanuts, and popcorn when it’s busy, but with two of us we can keep the sweets coming too.”

“Right, that makes perfect sense. But I have absolutely no idea how to do that.”

“Watch.” Barclay turns on the machine, and after a moment it whirs and rattles in a circle, “Once it starts melting and flinging little threads, grab one of these” he holds up a white, conical stick, “ and spin it through the threads. Easy, see?” He pulls the stick back up, covered in a sugary cloud. 

“Enough, I suppose. But if I end up with my arm coated in spun sugar, I’m blaming you.”

“Don’t worry, promise I’ll help you clean up if you do.”

Whether or not Barclay adds, “with my tongue” under his breath, Joseph cannot prove. 

“What are we going to do with the one you-”

There’s a knock on the trailer door. Barclay opens it, and hands the cotton candy to a waiting Indrid. 

“Thank you. Oh, Joseph, be careful with the oil tonight.”

“Oil, wait, how did he even know you’d made that?”

Barclay shrugs with a don’t-worry-about-it-smile, “He’s a seer, remember?”

As he takes up his position by the candy machine, he wonders how long he has to be around before people start telling him the truth. 

Circus goers trickle in as the late afternoon hits, and he and Barclay fall into a steady rhythm of filling boxes, spinning sugar, and passing out soda bottles. It doesn’t take long for Joseph to notice that, when a family or couple steps to the counter and orders popcorn (the cheapest thing they sell), there’s a fifty percent chance Barclay will stealthily pass back their coins along with their food.

He studies the pattern, notes Barclay seeming to pick up on the same things he does; faces that look worn, clothes that are patched and mended so heavily that little of the original fabric remains. 

“That’s very good of you, you know?” He says softly during a lull.

“I know what it’s like to fall on hard times. Least I can do is give someone a free bite to eat.”

Joseph nods, just as a clamor of young couples appears at the entrance to the circle. The throng makes a beeline to them, and as Barclay juggles several bottles at once he calls, “can you refill the oil on the popcorn?”

“On it” He calls back, pouring oil into the slot at the exact moment he remembers Indrid’s warning.

“Ow, _shit_.” Hot oil splashes across his hand, and he shoves his thumb into his mouth, waves with the un-burnt one to show Barclay he’s alright. 

They finish feeding the masses and as the show begins inside, at which point Barclay holds his palm out, “Here, lemme make sure it’s not too bad.”

“It’s fine, it’s just a small burn.”

Barclay examines his hand carefully, touch gentle on the unharmed patches and featherlight on the red marks. 

“Yeah, you’re right, not too bad so it shouldn’t even scar. And look” he holds up the back of his left hand, with a noticeable burn scar, “even if it does, we’ll be a matched set.”

With that, he reaches into the icebox and pulls out two bottles, popping the cap off one and offering it to Joseph. He takes it, enjoying the cool glass on his fingers, and Barclay clinks his against it.

“Here’s to your first day, partner.”

Joseph smiles, “Thanks for showing me the ropes. Partner.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------

The first week of his time at Amnesty continues much the same pattern. Joseph arrives early, he and Barclay lift, cook, clean, and otherwise help out what Joseph is beginning to think of as his friends. Once the crowds arrive, they take up their positions in the food stall, and spend the night dancing around each other in the oil spattered, sugar-scented air. 

As they’re cleaning up Monday night (Tuesday are the only day Amnesty doesn’t run), Joseph asks, “How exactly did you end up here?”

“Was wondering how long before you asked that. If you work in a circus, it's usually it’s the first thing people want to know.”

“It’s hardly the most interesting thing about you, but I’ll admit I’m curious about how anyone lands in this line of work.”

“I’ll tell you if you tell me how a man with a politicians walk and film stars looks decided to ask for a job here.”

“Deal.”

Barclay leans against the counter, “I ran into some hard times when I was younger, and Mama took me in. She started Amnesty to help make ends meet a few years back, so I came along with her. What about you?”

“I lost my job at a bank a few months ago, and the only other option was the police force. That was not an appealing idea for a number of reasons, but I was running out of time to find other work. If your father is the chief of police, you can only beg of his insistence to follow in his footsteps so many-”

_Crash_

The bottle Barclay was drinking from hits the floor and shatters. 

“Fuck, sorry, uh, keep talking, I’m just gonna sweep that up.”

“...okay. Well, there isn’t much to it besides that. I’ll admit that my fondness for the stranger things in life made work here appealing as well.”

“No wonder you, uh, you fit in so well, we’re a strange bunch. Whelp, that’s us done for the night. If you’re planning on coming by tomorrow, make sure to be here by seven, since I’m taking the morning to go to the market.” Barclay tosses the swept-up shards into the wastebin.

“I’ll see you then. Goodnight, Barclay.”

“Night!” The cook waves, albeit less happily than usual. If Joseph didn't know better, he’d think Barclay had been rattled by his admission of who his father was. 

Still, as he walks home he dismisses the idea. What could a man like Barclay have to hide?

\--------------------------------------------------

“His father is the WHAT?” Mama whirls from Barclay to Indrid, “You didn’t think that was important enough to mention?”

“In my defense, I did not see it in the futures when he first came to my tent. And, in further defense, even now it shows no obvious changes to the futures.”

“My fortune-telling friend, you have put us in a great deal of danger indeed.”

“Hey, lay off him Ned, he just said it doesn’t look like it’s gonna be a problem.” Duck tosses Magnus his dinner.

“Fine, maybe it ain’t gonna be a problem, but we need to double careful around him. For instance, gotta make sure he don’t ask Duck somethin where he’d have to lie.”

“Hey, I can lie, uh, fuck, lie better than, uh, a thing that, uh fuck, is a--yeah, okay, point taken.”

Mama turns to Barclay, “You’re gonna need to be even more cautious than the rest of us, on account of how often you’re around him. So, I’d suggest steerin clear of him whenever you can. Think you can do that?”

Barclay thinks of blue eyes and a clever smile, swallows thickly, “Sure thing, Mama. Won’t have any problems with that at all.”


	3. Moth to a Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barclay has tea. Indrid picks up the pieces. Duck returns a gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A buckle, the kind they make in this chapter, is basically a fruit cobbler you can make in a cast iron pan.

At five minutes til seven the next morning, Joseph is waiting for him at the circus entrance.

“You sure you wanna come? We may end up walking the whole city getting what we need. And I’m not sure your pay technically covers today. You can head home if you want.”

“And miss out on a lovely San Francisco summer day?” Joseph indicates the fog with a smile, “Besides, I like your company and you’ll probably need another pair of hands.”

“Can’t argue with that.” Barclay ignores the fact he could, very easily, argue and puts on his cap. Double checks his jacket for dust at the realization that Joseph is dressed nicer than usual, complete with a fedora that makes him look unfairly dashing. 

The grocer is first, Barclay loading them up with fruit, flour, eggs, and beans, along with potatoes and onions and other things hold up to being stored. Coffee comes next, and he manages to get butter and milk (“some times I really wish Duck had chosen a cow as his show animal”) as well before their baskets threaten to burst their bottoms. 

They lug everything back to the circus, stash the groceries away, and then head back out. They opt to take one of the trucks this time, as Ned found a wholesaler for things like popcorn and sugar. When the man tries to pull a fast one, insisting on a far higher price than the going rate, Joseph stares him down, voice cool and level and pointing out the several illegal operations clearly occurring in the warehouse that it would be a shame if the police found out about. 

They get the agreed on price.

The final stop is the butcher, Barclay buying mainly cheap cuts, save for the steaks he gets for tonight's dinner.

“What’s the occasion?” Joseph asks as they unload the meat into an ice box. 

“On our off nights, I like to cook something a bit nicer, since we’re not all running around and pressed for time. Besides, I do the food budget; I got no one to answer to except myself. Phew, we made good time today. Having an extra set of hands definitely paid off.”

“Glad to be of use. Do you, uh, need to start preparing food right away?”

“Nope, why?”

“Would you be interested in getting a drink? I’m buying.”

Barclay raises an eyebrow. Joseph rolls his eyes, “Not that kind of drink. Enough people in this town know who my father is that if I walk into a speak-easy, I’m liable to get shot. But there’s a teahouse in Chinatown that’s phenomenal.”

He should say no.

“Sure, sounds nice.”

Which is how he ends up sitting across from Joseph at a small table as tea carts and waiters clatter about the room. He searches for something polite to say, Mama's words of warning a time-delay bomb that is finally going off in his chest. 

“I like the hat, by the way, very Sam Spade.”

“You read Hammett?” Joseph brightens. 

“Yeah. Can’t carry too many things with us on the road, but pulp novels are cheap to come by and easy to travel with. Gotta say I like “The Thin Man” best of all his.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. You’re a cook, and food features multiple times.”

“Take it you're a big fan?” Barclay smiles.

“I love a good mystery. Though I’ll admit I have an equal fondness for science fiction.”

“Starting to see why you were so excited by the Cryptonomica. Before you, y’know, saw it.”

“I firmly believe there is more to this world than what we currently understand. Not to say that one shouldn’t be skeptical, god knows there are plenty of hucksters out there. But I just can’t help feeling that there really are strange creatures out there. For instance, did you know that there have been multiple sightings across the country of a giant, ape-like creature?”

“I mean, I know Ned’s played off of that for some displays.” 

“It’s more than that; there are consistencies across the descriptions that point to all the eyewitnesses seeing the same thing, rather that it being multiple people trying to create hoaxes. There was even one in the Sierra Nevadas a few months back. I’d be fascinated to see the creature for myself.”

“I’ll, uh, keep that in mind, in case Ned ever gets a real one.” 

“Oh!” Joseph sets his cup down, “Have you ever heard of the Kepler Devil?”

“The what?” His tea is threatening to come back up.

“It was a large, flying creature first sighted in a small town in West Virginia. The descriptions do vary, as some people say it looks like an owl, while others insist it’s more like a giant moth. It’s been sighted in several other spots across the country. I’m actually surprised you’ve never heard of it, given that both Duck and Mama are from around there.”

“Guess they never mentioned it.” It takes several calming breaths before he can pour himself more tear without his hands shaking. 

“I’m sorry, I’ve been rambling on.”

“It’s okay, I’m learning a lot.” He leaves out the part where he likes watching Joseph come alive whenever he talks about things that interest him. 

Joseph stares at the window for a moment. When he looks back, his expression is tinged with something shy and sad. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask; how long is Amnesty going to be in town?”

“Depends. If business is good and nothing goes wrong, we could be here for a month, maybe even two. We usually stay in big cities a long time, because there’s lots of people living there and lots of people visiting, so we have a steady audience. Think the longest was El Paso, we were there about three months. But some places we’re only in about a week. La Jolla, Bozeman, Tulsa, those were all short stays. I dunno, just depends on how things go. Why?”

Joseph taps a nail against his cup, “Just figuring out what I’m going to do afterwards. How long I have to make other plans regarding my finances.”

“You could travel.” Barclay suggests.

“That is a possibility, true. Work my way up and down the country, ride the rails.” He sounds less than enthused.

“Marry rich? I could see someone falling for you and showing you off at, like, the opera and shit like that.” 

Joseph snorts, amused.

“I’m serious, there are people out there who’d count themselves damn lucky just for you to look their way. People who’d think it was an honor to take care of you.”

“Like who?” Joseph sips his tea, watching Barclay carefully over the edge of the cup. 

Barclay’s mind somersaults in search of an answer other than “me.”

Satisfaction flickers in Joseph’s eyes, and he realizes he walked right into a snare and is now dangling upside-down and exposed.

“I will admit, the idea of someone taking care of me has it’s appeal. Of course, I would make sure whoever did so was, uh, well looked after themselves. Reciprocity is important, after all.” He blows, lips forming an obscene "O," on tea that was cool five minutes ago.

Barclay bangs his knee on the table crossing his legs. Joseph finishes his drink.

“Shall we go?”

“Uh, one more pot? I’m enjoying having time just for you and I to talk.”

(It’s not a lie. But it’s not the most urgent reason he wants to avoid standing up.)

Joseph smiles, and flags down a waiter.

\----------------------------------------------------------

“Mmmmm, that smells delicious, my friend.”

“Ned, if you make a grab for the steak before Mama does, I’m not gonna be responsible for what happens.”

The older man winks at Joseph and Barclay, both perched on boxes in order to cook over the campfire, before stealing a roasted potato and disappearing. 

“How’s the buckle coming?” Barclay finishes checking the steak. 

“Wonderful. The blackberries were an excellent choice.” Joseph wraps a thick towel around his hand and lifts the cast iron pan from the stove.

“Test it for me?” Barclay hands him a spoon. 

Joseph scoops out a bite of deep purple filling and blows on it before popping it in his mouth. He moans in pleasure, scoops out another bite and offers it to Barclay. 

The cook leans forward, parts his lips, and savors the warm, sweet juice as it hits his tongue. A rivulet of purple slips from the edge of the spoon and smears his mouth

Joseph sets the spoon down, leans even closer, and draws his thumb along the juice, his other fingers cupping Barclays chin as he does. Not expecting the contact, he gasps, and the thumb passes into his mouth. 

“Don’t want to waste any, right?” Joseph murmurs.

Barclay nods.

"Suck."

He closes his mouth and sucks gently, tasting sweat and skin beneath the sugar. Joseph inhales sharply, eyes fixed on the movement of Barclays lips. 

“Good.” Joseph pulls his hand back with an enigmatic smile, wipes it on the bottom of his shirt, and stands, “I’m going to ring the dinner bell.”

“S-sure thing.” 

As the metallic sound clangs out, he rests his hands on his knees and breathes out, “Fuck me.” 

\----------------------------------------------

“Well, fuck me I guess.” Indrid stands before the ruins of his seers tent. The damage hadn’t seemed so bad the night before. Then again, when there was a chance of being choked to death between the coils of the latest abomination, anything seemed like a better outcome. 

Dani and Barclay are in the main tent, trying to repair his tent so that they can use it again. They can replace the splintered furniture and singed sign, but all of his fortune-telling supplies are ruined. 

He kneels in the dirt, pulls his shawl from beneath the broken table. Of all the blasted nights to leave it in here rather than carry it back to his trailer.

_“It does seem to be healing.”_

_“Hey, don’t got all this weird durability for nothin.”_

_“I know” he finishes changing the dressing on Duck’s chest, “but all the same I’d rather not see you hurt.”_

_The abomination had been the hell-spawn of a rhinoceros and an eagle, and it took them three weeks to finally corner and destroy it. In the process, it charged Aubrey and Ned, only for Duck to step in front of them and take the force of the blow himself._

_Indrid ripped it’s throat out shortly afterwards._

_“At least I’m in good hands.” Duck doesn’t put his shirt back on, tests the range of motion in his arms and pectorals._

_“Aubrey and Thacker saw to the bulk of your healing. I merely hovered about like an anxious hummingbird.”_

_“Can’t think of anyone I’d rather have by my bedside. Oh, that reminds me, I got you somethin at our last supply stop.” He hops up and opens his luggage. Indrid sees what’s coming and flaps his hands in anticipation._

_Duck proudly presents him with a warm, thick shawl, the threads a stunning fuschia and gold._

_“Montana’s gonna be cold, figure you could use the extra warmth when you’re fortune-telling.”_

_“It’s lovely, Duck. Thank you.” He drapes the fabric around his shoulders with a sigh._

_“Only the best for you, sugar.”_

_Indrid smiles at the nickname, and opens his arms. Duck steps into the embrace, allowing Indrid to draw the shawl around them both._

_“Heh, feels kinda like when you get wings around me.”_

_“Mmmmmhmmm.” Indrid hums happily, face resting in Duck’s neck, “Am I correct that you are far enough in your convalescence to be craving a slightly different form of, ah, comfort?”_

_“Damn right, handsome. Take me to bed?” Duck runs his fingers along Indrid’s sides as he kisses his cheek._

_“With pleasure.”_

There’s a tear right down the center of the shawl. 

He can fix it. He knows he can. He has to.

“Indrid, what in the world happened?” Without turning he knows Joseph Stern is standing behind him, deeply concerned. While the younger man has spent over two weeks with them, there is no way on this or any other planet that he will be allowed to know the truth of what Amnesty does. A relief, then, that they’ve all already agreed on a cover story.

“From time to time, we run across those who believe that circuses are merely home to freaks and deviants, and think it would be quite a laugh to trash our home. This time it was my tent that was the chosen target.”

“That’s terrible. Not surprising, given how people can be, but terrible all the same. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

Indrid nods at the shattered crystal ball, “I need a replacement for that. And, as you can see, new tarot cards as well.” He rubs some of the ash that used to be his deck between his fingers. 

“Don’t worry about the cards, I got that covered.”

Indrid turns, still on the ground, unsure if he's seeing the future correctly. 

Duck holds out a tarot deck, bound with a red ribbon, and he takes it gingerly. 

“This is...the one I drew for you.”

“Yep. Don’t have much call to practice anymore, and it seems like you need ‘em more than I do.”

“I, ah, thank you, Duck. I can’t believe you kept it.” He turns the deck over in his hands, finds Strength gazing up at him from the bottom of the pile with the same face as the man looking down at him. 

“‘Drid, I’ve seen people arguin over who gets to keep those posters you draw for us. Would’ve been a damn fool to get rid of a whole stack of your drawins.”

“Ah, yes, of course. That makes sense.” 

(It’s a kind sentiment, just not the kind sentiment he’s after).

“Ahem” Joseph folds his hands behind his back when Indrid looks at him, “Right, just a new crystal ball. Any specifications?”

“No, I trust your judgement. Thank you.” He stands, cards and cloth held tight to his chest. Duck watches Joseph go, waits until he’s out of ear-shot to speak.

“Did I do somethin wrong, offerin you those?” He nudges a chair leg with his foot. 

Three futures emerge.

_“Why did you really keep them?”_

_“They got, uh, fuck, buried in my suitcase-bag and I didn’t find ‘em until I joined, fuck, back up here? Nevermind, I oughta go.”_

Or

_“Do these mean so little to you that you’d risk them meeting the same fate as the last deck?”_

_“Christ, Indrid, I was just tryin to help.”_

“Not in the slightest.”

“Oh, uh, that’s good. Glad I could help you out some. If you need anythin else, you know where to find me. Or, uh, if you wanna do some practice spreads, happy to your test subject. Might even let you quiz me.”

There’s the barest spark of old times in the smile sends over his shoulder, and Indrid knows he’d follow the matchstick’s worth of hope to the ends of the earth. 

\----------------------------------------------------

“Are you certain he’s not in the staging area?” Joseph peers under the seats in the bigtop while Aubrey anxiously lifts haybales and platforms and Jake overturns buckets in search of the erstwhile Dr Harris Bonkers. 

“Yep. Dani’s waiting in our trailer in case he goes back there. It’s not the first time he’s run off, though usually he doesn’t do it right after a performance. Being the center of attention wears him out. Oh, I know!” Aubrey snaps her fingers, “If you check the trailers and Jake stays here, I can check the front display tents. That way, if he runs from one of us, he’ll run into the other.”

“Good plan.” Once outside, they set off in opposite directions. He scours every hiding place that a fifteen pound rabbit could seek out, before finally locating a wiggly noise and reflective eyes under Ned’s darkened trailer. 

“Come on out, doctor, you can’t discharge your Hippocratic duties if an alley cat runs off with you.” He holds out his hand and the rabbit hops to him, bumping a fuzzy forehead against his fingers.

As he’s scooping the creature up, a laugh bursts from the trailer to the right of him. 

Given that it’s Indrid’s trailer, it’s likely the seer making that sound. But he’s never heard Indrid laugh that way before, high and joyful.

The door bangs open and Indrid stumbles out, still giggling, the light from his trailer glinting off his glasses. Duck steps out behind him, laughing loudly and wrapping his arms around Indrid’s waist, resting his chin on his shoulder.

“How is it your jokes have gotten worse in the last year?”

“Maybe I been savin' all the bad ones up just for you.”

Indrid turns to say something else, glances down at Duck’s arms around him. The strongman looks down as well, and the pair look up at each other in sync. 

Then Duck’s back connects with the half open door as Indrid kisses him. Or perhaps he pulls Indrid into the kiss first. It’s hard to say, the two moving in harmony, as if they’ve done this a million times before. 

Joseph should go. 

“Oh yay, you found--whoa shit, when did that happen?” Aubrey appears at his elbow, voice dropping to a whisper as soon as she sees the lovers. 

“About twenty seconds ago.” Joseph hands her the rabbit, neither of them looking away like they probably should.

Duck and Indrid separate, panting. 

Then Duck takes a step down the stairs, holding out a hand to stop Indrid from following.

“I’m, I’m sorry ‘Drid, I can’t. I just can’t.” Duck smooths down his shirt, rumple from slender fingers holding it tight.

“Nono, you’re absolutely right. I’m sorry, that was rash, I ought to have-”

“It’s not your fault, I was the one, old habits and all that shit. Uh, goodnight.” 

Indrid watches Duck, face calm as usual, until he rounds the supply tent and disappears. Then he slumps down onto the top step, scrubbing his face as if there’s blood on it. 

“You two, or rather three, can come out.”

Aubrey and Joseph step into the light, exchanging a sheepish smile. 

“To be honest, I am surprised as you two are about to say you were by what just transpired.”

“Indrid” Aubrey climbs the small steps, sits down beside her friend, “It’s okay. You two were really into each other. It can be hard to let that go. Here.'' She hands him the rabbit, which he settles in his lap and pets gently.

Joseph’s investigators mind wants to know every sordid detail. The rest of him wants to comfort his friend. 

“We were together. Duck and I. There were futures where you asked.” Indrid fiddles with the rabbits ears, "I ought to leave the past in peace, but I remain drawn to him like, like-"

"A moth to a flame?"

"Very apt. Though a flame would hurt considerably less."

“You don’t have to say more if you don’t want to. But I sense both Aubrey and I are ready to listen if you need to talk.”

\-----------------------------------------------------

Indrid turns first to Aubrey, who nods with her usual kind, understanding smile, and then back to Joseph. There are no bad futures if he confides in them.

“About a year ago, there was an incident.”

“An accident.” Aubrey corrects gently. 

“I should have seen it coming, I should have been able to prevent what happened. But I didn’t. As a result, a great deal was lost, including a former member of our company. A man named Arlo Thacker. I....did not handle the aftermath well. In fact, I decided it was safer for everyone if I left Amnesty as soon as possible. Duck worked out what I was planning to do and came to speak with me.”

_“‘Drid, please don’t go. We need you here. Fuck, forget everythin else, I need you here.”_

_“My mind is made up, Duck. This is not the last time my errors will put us all in danger, and I cannot bear the thought of any more loss.”_

_“That the futures talkin, or your fear?”_

_Indrid shuts his suitcase, “It doesn’t matter. I am a threat. I do not belong here, not truly.”_

_“Bullshit.” Duck puts his hand down the case emphatically, “This is your home too.”_

_He smiles, sadly, “We both know that’s not quite true.”_

_A beat of silence, Duck reaching for his fingers, “Ain’t I your home? Don’t this thing between us count for somethin?”_

_“It is everything to me, Duck. Which is why I have to leave. To keep you safe most of all.”_

_“You won’t even let me come with you?”_

_“I can’t ask that of you. You uprooted your life once already for the sake of this work. I do not want you doing the same for me.”_

_“Does what I want count for anythin here, or are you just hell-bent on havin a goddamn martyr complex?”_

_“I have my reasons for going alone, please, I need you to take me at my word.”_

_Indrid sets the suitcase beside it’s twin on the floor._

_“Marry me.”_

_“I beg your pardon?”_

_Duck takes his hands, “I don’t ever wanna be parted from you, Indrid Cold. I wanna be by your side come hell or high water, and I don’t give a good goddamn about the danger. We ain’t gotta stay here if you really think it’d put our friends in danger, but, fuck, ‘Drid, please, please don’t leave me behind.”_

_Indrid stares at their joined fingers. His heart aches with the answer he wants to give. The answer Duck Newton will never hear._

_“You are a stubborn man, Duck, and I love you for it. Will you give me until the morning to decide? Such a large step cannot be taken lightly.”_

_Duck kisses his hand, relief flooding his face, “Sure thing, sugar.”_

“I left that night, as soon as he went to sleep.” Indrid rubs the bridge of his nose, eyes stinging with shame. 

“Lord almighty.” Joseph catches the judgement in his tone, but Indrid holds up a hand to stop the oncoming apology.

“It’s alright, I am aware that was not my finest hour.”

“Yeah, it was _bad_ the next morning.” Aubrey adds. 

Indrid smiles weakly at her, “I appreciate your candor, Lady Flame.”

Aubrey picks the rabbit up from his lap, “But, hey, you came back eventually! And you and Duck are okay now. Kinda. Maybe as okay as you can be?”

“Very true. I, ah, I do not wish to be rude, but I would dearly like to go to bed now.”

“Sure thing!” Aubrey stands up, waves, “See everyone in the morning! And come get me and Dani if you need some shoulders to cry on, okay?”

Indrid nods, waves back, and freezes; a new future has just crystallized.

The current abomination is wily, in part because it isn’t that interested in attacking innocent bystanders. It tucks itself away most nights, uses their vibrations to sense their approach, making Indrid’s ability to predict it’s whereabouts next to useless. 

It will stay tucked away tonight. Unless a certain circus assistant walks over it’s hideout. 

“Joseph, it would be wise for you to stay here tonight. If you walk home this evening, you will be in danger.”

“I don’t suppose you can tell me how you know that?”

Indrid taps his glasses.

Joseph gives a fond eyeroll, “That’s about what I expected. But I’m exhausted and would gladly sleep on top of Magnus if it meant shutting my eyes sooner.”

Indrid chuckles, “While I suspect there is another person whose trailer you would like to stay in, mine is the best equipped for a visitor. I have lots of extra blankets.” He stands, holds the door open. 

“Your floor should do the trick. And I haven’t the faintest idea who you’re talking about, I view you all as friends and nothing more.” Joseph smiles politely as he steps through the door.

In spite of years spent around Duck Newton, who can’t lie even when his life depends on it.

But that is the least convincing lie he’s ever heard.


	4. Filthy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Indrid cleans. Barclay fantasizes. Stern can't sleep.

Joseph spends the next two nights sleeping on Indrid’s floor. It’s not comfortable for his back but it soothes his mind, given that the alternative is walking home through dark streets, looking over his shoulder every two seconds in search of the source of Indrid’s nervous tone. 

(Or sleeping in Barclay’s trailer, where his resolve to flirt and nothing more would melt like butter on popcorn.)

Indrid is a pleasant bunkmate; he doesn’t snore, is polite in that awkward way of his, and hums soothingly as he draws, blankets piled around him. 

Unfortunately, this sleeping arrangement means that when Indrid opens his door Friday morning, Joseph directly behind him, they're both hit with the contents of the bucket someone rigged to the door. 

“At least the brown substance is mud and not, ah, something else.” Indrid shakes his fingers, droplets of muck splatting onto the steps. 

“Judging by the smell, someone put paint in it too. Ugh, lord almighty.” Damp is oozing down his shirt, trickling into his pants. 

“Got you fellas too, huh?” 

He stops shaking his shirt off, finds Barclay standing on the dirt in a similar state.

“It seems as though they set a trap for each trailer, although not everyone has woken up yet excusemeImustrun!” The seer takes off, mud trailing behind him.

“Going to warn Duck?” Joseph hops down onto the ground. 

“I’d bet my last cent on it.”

As they turn towards the supply ten, Aubrey appears, mud streaked down her face and rage in her eyes. 

“Shit, I’m sorry they got you too.”

“Oh no, that’s not why I’m pissed. They got it on Dani _and_ Dr. Harris Bonkers. Nobody throws muck on my wife. Nobody!” 

Strands of hay by her feet catch fire and she stomps them out, muttering, “lousy sons of-, should just let them get eaten.”

Barclay spots a mud spattered Jake coming their way and sighs, “C’mon Joseph, looks like we need to fill up a lot of buckets this morning.” He goes to card his fingers through his hair, only to hit drying mud and groan. 

Their final tally comes to ten buckets, plus two wash tubs; one for Aubrey and Dani, and one for Duck who, in spite of Indrid’s mad dash across the camp, got absolutely coated in sludge. Ned was warned by Indrid as he ran by, and Dani disabled the bucket on Mama’s trailer before it could empty on her. Which meant Mama had an unobstructed view of not one, but three badly vandalized tents, including the Cryptonomica, that their nighttime visitors left in their wake.

While Mama and Ned convene to figure out how, exactly, to repair the damage, the rest of them set about getting clean. 

It’s not that Joseph hasn’t bathed in communal spaces before; he just wasn’t expecting two of the four other men present to strip down without batting an eye. Jake is naked and dumping water on himself before Joseph even has his shirt off. 

Barclay is also unbothered, though just as he undoes his belt he catches Josephs eye, registers the blush he's given up on fighting.

“You doing okay there?”

“Uh, yes, perfectly.” He quickly turns his back on everyone, finishes peeling off his clothes. Takes a rag from his bucket of water and scrubs at the mud on his shoulders. 

If he trusted his body not to betray him, he would turn around and pretend to be as unbothered as the others. Just so he could commit Barclays body to memory, tuck the image away to ration off later, when the other man is nothing but a fond recollection. Just to see if the hunger that peeks out of Barclay’s gentle demeanor from time to time shows itself in response to his own naked form.

Instead, he focuses on the chill of the water, even as the heat beneath his skin refuses to dissipate.

\-------------------------------------------

On the opposite side of the tent from Stern and his minor existential crisis, Duck runs a wet cloth along his arms, brown water splashing over the rim of the washtub.

“Hell of a night to sleep with no shirt on.” He grumbles.

“You have, ah, one patch still on your back.” Indrid must be using his future sight to know this, because his face is turned assiduously away, just as it’s been since Duck entered the tent. Taking his cue from the other man, Duck’s gaze has remained on his bath until this exact moment.

He reaches along his back, rubbing at anything that feels like a muddy patch.

“That get it?”

“Uhmmm”

“‘Drid, you can just look.”

The silver haired man turns, towel around his waist, and cocks his head, “No, it’s still there.”

“How in the--ah, god, maybe I shoulda listened to Leo’s warnins about flexibility,” He whacks ineffectively at his back with the cloth, can tell by the Indrid’s valiant effort to suppress a smile that he’s still missing the mark

“Help me?” He holds out the cloth, a peace offering and plea all in one.

Indrid plucks it from his fingers and kneels in the dirt behind him. A gentle, cool circle rubs along the very center of his shoulder blades.

“You haven’t been doing those stretches Minerva taught you, have you?” 

“I have, uh, fuck, so, been doin them every night...time? Fuck. How can you tell?”

“You have knots all through here” a finger glides along his upper back before trailing up to his neck “and here.” Indrid tsks, “What will you do if you cramp up while lifting Magnus? The poor bear, he’d be so frightened if you dropped him.”

“Poor bear? What about poor-oh,” he glances behind him, sees the smirk on Indrid’s face and gives a mock glare in return, “careful, ain’t wise to tease a man who can splash filthy water all over you.” 

“May I try something?”

Duck nods, and a pointer finger presses on either side of the base of his neck. There’s a burst of initial pain, then the tension melts away little by little. If Joseph weren’t here, Duck would ask Indrid to change into his other form; he keenly remembers the claws kneading his back, placing pressure in all the right spots to send him melting into the bed.

Indrid hits the main knot and Duck hisses, tensing, before relief washes over him. His head drops back in bliss, comes to rest on Indrid’s chest. His skin is cold as always, his touch more tender than Duck deserves. 

“Better?” It’s barely audible, as if the seer is afraid noise might startle the moment into hiding. 

“Yessir.” 

Indrid’s hand rests on the tub, unsure as to whether to retreat from Duck’s space entirely. 

“Then again” He lifts his right hand from the water, rests it atop the slender fingers and gives them a squeeze, “might do to get a few more of ‘em outta my shoulders. If ain’t too much trouble.”

A puff a laughter ruffles his hair, “Not in the least.” 

As the fingers continue their work, Indrid humming an old love song, Duck keeps his head nestled in that familiar spot and pretends that this is enough.

\------------------------------------------

Barclay has come to a conclusion: Joseph Stern is either the greatest sadist since the Marquis himself, or he’s afraid of something that Barclay can't identify.

After all, it’s not as if he didn’t notice Joseph’s eyes bugging out like a character in a Betty Boop cartoon when he saw Barclay shirtless. Or the playful glances he steals as they work side by side or back to back. 

Barclay’s been around the block a few times, he knows when he’s being flirted with, when a guy is two seconds away from beckoning him into the nearest closet or bending over a flat surface. But Joseph has never made that leap, no matter how many double-entendres he volleys Barclay’s way. 

Barclay hasn’t tried the leap himself for a menu’s worth of reasons. For starters, part of him is weary of being the one expected to make the first move. When you stand six feet five inches and are “built like an ox rather than a man” (Ned’s not-terribly-helpful description of him), most people assume you’ll take command of barroom approaches and bedroom encounters. But more than once that’s left him feeling as though he is not worthy of pursuit even as, paradoxically, decades of being in danger, being hunted, make him wary of people intruding on his personal space.

Whenever Joseph suggests they step out for a drink together, he gets giddy. When Joseph rests beside him or touches him without warning while sitting dangerously close, it's electric. His fight or flight reflexes fail to kick in. Instead all he wants is to rest his head in the other mans lap, let him play his fingers across his body however he sees fit.

Then there’s the fact that Joseph, in spite of all he’s confided in Barclay, is an outsider. One with ties to the very authorities who could put Barclay and his loved ones in danger. 

More than anything, though, Joseph feels untouchable. At the end of the day he’s a tourist in Barclay’s world, will go back to respectable, normal life once Amnesty moves on. And even as he teases, even as he laughs at Barclays jokes and casts fond looks his way, it’s as if there’s the thinnest pane of glass separating them. Barclay didn’t put it there, doesn’t know what will happen if he breaks it. 

But if Joseph wants it there, then that’s where it will stay. 

…..Or maybe he just hasn’t been getting enough sleep and that’s why he’s laying here in the dead of night, waxing poetic about a man he's know for barely a month 

Time for desperate measures.

He’s stopped counting how many nights he’s gotten off to the thought of Stern facedown on the worn cot of his trailer, dark hair plastered to his forehead and skin shiny with sweat as Barclay fucks him hard and rough.

But tonight, that’s not what he’s craving. 

Rolling onto his side, he slips his hand into his pants and pictures Joseph facing him. Strokes himself slowly to the thought of the smaller man undressing him, murmuring praise for every part of him, leaving kiss after kiss on his chest and stomach, teasing at his hips with a smile.

_“Please, Joseph, can I kiss you?”_

_“Patience, big guy, only if you touch yourself for me first.”_

_“I, I am, Joseph, honey, god-”_

_He’s silenced by a kiss, the dark-haired man wrapping an arm around his back to draw them closer as he joins their lips over and over again. Barclay can barely move his hand, trapped between their bodies as it is, but the challenge makes it all the more delicious._

_Joseph smirks, still fully clothed, “do you want to come from that?”_

_“Only if you kiss me while I do.”_

_“Of course. I said reciprocity was important, remember? You take care of me, so I’ll take care of you.”_

Barclay comes fast, his pace having picked up when imaginary-Joseph began kissing him. He sighs, content for now. Kicks out of his pants, electing to sleep naked tonight and pretend, just until he falls asleep, that Joseph will be wrapped around him when he wakes up.

\---------------------------------------------------

Joseph may be a masochist to some degree, but this is ridiculous. 

He thought he could sustain the balance of the delicious torture of flirting with someone who he can never fully pursue with the need to avoid falling head over heels. Instead, he’s tumbling so fast Mama could feature him as an acrobat. It's pain of a kind he didn't expect.

Worse, he’s worried that Barclay might feel the same. His own sexual frustration, his own heartbreak, those are things he’s willing to risk. But hurting Barclay, toying with him in a way that he doesn’t enjoy, that’s a thought he cannot stand. 

So tonight, in his bed at home, he focuses on a thought he _can_ stand.

_“Joseph, please, I can’t take it anymore.”_

_“Take what?” His voice is mild, as if he can’t feel the sparks between them_

_“What’s been going on between us.” Barclay boxes him in against the side of his trailer._

_“Well, big guy, what do you suggest we do about it?”_

_“This.” Barclay darts forward, kissing him soundly, hands dropping down to grip his hips._

“Yes” he whispers to the empty room, hand working efficiently up and down his cock. 

_Barclay keeps them pressed together, rolls his hips with a whimper. Joseph nudges him, directs his gaze to the floor. The larger man falls to his knees, tugging at the buttons on his pants until Joseph’s cock is free._

_“Been thinking about this for weeks.” He licks a stripe up the shaft, but when he goes to take the head into his mouth, Joseph threads a hand into his hair to stop him._

_“I, I want you to keep talking, I don’t, I need to know this is real.”_

_A strong hand strokes slowly and expertly along his cock, “It’s real, sweetheart. It could be as real as you want it to be.”_

“Oh, come _on_.” He groans, throwing an arm across his eyes. Can’t his mind allow him ten minutes of uninterrupted fantasy?

In a handful of perfunctory strokes he comes and promptly sits up, searching for something to wipe his hands on.

As he cleans his hands on a discarded undershirt, he shakes his head at his own silly heart. Even if Barclay is at this very moment getting his rocks off to the thought of Joseph, surely he’s not throwing as many conflicting feelings into the mix. All of this, the fear, the guilt, the maintenance of the scant but necessary distance between them, those are Joseph’s to carry. Why would Barclay want to be with someone who dragged issues and doubts behind him like the worlds most anxiety-laden steam engine? 

Why would he want to be with someone too afraid to indulge what they both seem to want in the present because he's anticipating of a loveless future? 

Why would he want Joseph at all?

\---------------------------------------------------------------

“Ah, my dear Joseph, just the man I wanted to see!”

“Good morning to you too, Ned.” Joseph pauses to read the newly painted sign above the Cryptonomica. 

“New attractions?”

“That’s correct! In order to recoup the losses from the damage to camp and have enough money to move on to the next destination when the hour arrives, Mama and I have decided to fall back on one of the best money-makers is the business: a live sideshow! Come along, I want you honest opinion. You’ve got keen eyes after all.”

Inside the tent, all the display cases of Fiji mermaids and their kin have been pushed aside to make room for a small stage. The sign resting on the front of it reads “The Illustrated Man.”

“But we don’t have one.”

“On the contrary. We’re never without one. That is, if he ever arrives.”

“Apologies” Indrid steps into the tent, “I was keeping an eye on some things. I’m relieved that we will be getting a heat wave these next few days; it will make this bearable for me.”

With that, he steps on the stage and disrobes, flowing fabric giving way to bare skin. Skin that is coated with the most intricate tattoos Joseph has ever seen. There are strange birds in flight, circling flowers of vibrant blue and pink. Jagged orange rocks that seem to glow, dark clouds swirling over a roiling sea. Geometric symbols in rainbow hues, silhouettes in a style that Indrid must have designed himself. 

“Goodness, I’d forgotten just how bony I look when I'm down to these shorts.” Indrid brushes lint from his belly. 

“Indrid, I had no idea, I mean, this is remarkable. Wait, how will-”

“I continue fortune telling? The living pieces of the sideshow will only be viewable for a few hours each day in the late afternoon, allowing me ample time to ply my trade in the evenings.” Indrid shivers, rubs his upper arms with his hands. 

“Ned, where do you want these sign-” 

The clatter behind them suggests Duck just dropped the signs in question. Joseph turns, finds the strongman staring at Indrid, mouth open.

“Duck, this is not an unfamiliar sight.” Indrid smirks. 

“Yeah, uh, I know. Just, forgot how you look when it’s all on display like that. I, I gotta go feed, no, fuck, gotta go water, no, fuck-”

“Aubrey’s about to need you assistance setting up the new rigging.” Indrid offers, any pity in the statement drowned out by affection. 

“Come, let’s go see the second attraction.” Ned rests a hand on his shoulder, turning them both away from the hapless lovers, “this one was actually inspired by something you described to Barclay. Our audience will gasp, will goggle, will hopefully give us a great deal of green in order to see the magnificent man-ape!”

Seated on a small stage in the second room of the tent is a creature with coppery fur, though most of said fur is covered by dress pants, patent shoes, a crisp white shirt, and a waistcoat. They’re engrossed a book of Langston Hughes poetry, reading glasses perched on their nose, and look up when Joseph speaks.

“That’s an impressive get-up to be sure. But who did you bribe to wear it?” Even as he asks the question he looks closer, recognizes the face looking back him. 

Then a familiar baritone says, “Glad you think it’s impressive. Partner.”


	5. Old Wounds, New Desires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stern improvises. Barclay gets fancy. Indrid attempts a repair.

Joseph clambers up onto the makeshift stage to marvel at Barclay, “How in the world did you manage this?”

“Grease paint and fake hair can do a lot in the right hands. Jake’s got an eye for it like you've never seen.”

The younger man passes through the room, arms full of a make-up box and strips of false fur, waves and grins proudly at the mention of his name.

Joseph touches his face, can see from this distance the marks where the fur has been adhered. They even went so far as to add some to give points to his ears. He glances down the line of Barclay’s leg, hoping neither he nor Ned spots the slight pause to admire the noticeable bulge in his slacks. 

“Trick boots to add height?”

“Exactly. And the costume is this way both so we don’t have to cover me head to toe in fur and to play up the gimmick.”

“We’re going for a ‘refined monster’ gag, I take it.”

“Right again. You have an excellent eye for sideshows, dear Joseph.”

“You’re not leaving me to fend for myself in the concession stand, right?”

Barclay runs a hand, covered with remarkably soft fur, along Josephs cheek.

“Course not. Can’t leave my partner in the lurch. I’ll do the same thing Indrid does; be on display for a few hours, then yank all this off and head out to my normal post.”

“I’ll see you there.” He lifts the hand from his cheek, squeezes it once, and jumps off the stage, “Good luck today. You too, Ned!”

“Thank you, my dear boy, I am certain this shall be a roaring success.”

\------------------------------------

“Well, that didn’t shake out how we planned.” Mama counts out the meager take from the Cryptonomica cash box. 

“It’s only been two days. Maybe we just need some more word of mouth.” Aubrey sweeps up stray ashes from her act. 

“Or more interesting exhibits.” Indrid looks up from his sketchpad, “no offense to myself or Barclay, but we are hardly the kind of thing people want to pay there scant dimes to see.”

“Their loss.” Duck mutters, flashing a grin Indrid’s way.

“What if we added a more active element to Barclay’s?” Stern takes the wet forks the cook hands him, dries them off as he continues, “That could heighten the gimmick. Maybe someone who, hmmm, someone who’s like an animal tamer, making a big fuss over how dangerous Barclay is while he sits there demur and well-mannered. It could get the crowd laughing.”

“Even if they laugh, what’d make them tell their friends to come see it?” Mama’s thoughtful frown suggests she’s working through the logistics in her mind. 

“What if…..Oh! What if every so often, Barclay snaps and does react aggressively to his “keeper?” You know, growls or grabs at them, just enough to frighten the crowd. Then people would talk about the shocking thing they saw, and part of the excitement of coming into the tent would be seeing if everything went smoothly or not.”

“Brilliant!” Ned claps his hands together, “I believe we have our way forward.”

“So who’s gonna be my keeper?” Barclay smirks at Joseph. At which point he notices that all eyes in the room have turned to him.

As the suggestion dawns on him, all he can get out is, “You cannot be serious.”

\------------------------------------

They’re serious. 

Which is why Joseph is now standing, in 95 degree heat, in a full suit. It’s black and green pinstripes, like Ned’s, though Barclay speed-tailored the jacket and shirt to be double strong, so that they won’t tear if Barclay grabs him during the act. 

“You excited?” The cook, in his full costume, pours himself a cup of tea. In a rather brilliant suggestion from Dani, they’ve added a tea set to Barclay’s “enclosure” to play up his sophistication. The enclosure is delineated by ropes, their true purpose to keep people from crossing and harassing Barclay too easily. 

“Sort of. Barclay, I have never done anything like this before. What if I’m so terrible that I drive away crowds? What if I accidentally hit you?” He waves the small horsewhip, meant to add realism to his act as the keeper of a fearsome beast

Barclay crosses to him, reaching over the rope to rest his hands on his shoulders, “Hey, you’re gonna do great. You’re a smart guy, and I bet we make an amazing team. And if you whip me once or twice well” he chuckles, low and bubbling with something secret, “think I’ll be just fine.”

“Gentleman, the tent opens in ten minutes, are you both ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” 

Ned ducks back through the curtains and Barclay brushes stray sawdust from Joseph's jacket. 

“You sure you don’t want me to warn you when I’m planning on ‘snapping?”

“Positive. My reaction will be more believable if I’m genuinely startled.”

“You’re the boss.” Barclay winks at him, settles into the chair they’ve set out. 

Soon, a modest crowd of couples and families spills into the room, giggling and gasping in surprise when they spot Barclay. The cook ignores them, focuses on his book, which today is a volume of Emily Dickinson verse.

Joseph clasps his hands behind his back, puts on his best posture as he announces, “Esteemed visitors, please, I must ask you to keep a safe distance. The creature you see before you is the most dangerous beast to ever roam these lands. Dozens of men died attempting to capture him, and many more were gravely injured.”

Murmurs in the crowd, people lingering to look more carefully at Barclay. 

“Indeed, his ferocity knows no bounds! He is uncivilized, liable to attack at any moment.”

Barclay sips his tea, sets the cup down and dabs his lips with a handkerchief.

The audience laughs, beginning to catch on to the joke. 

“As you can see, he is frightening to the core, monstrous in all ways!”

Barclay crosses his legs, picks his tea back up and sticks out his pinky. 

“His countenance strikes fear into all who see him!” 

The cook pretends to notice the onlookers for the first time, raises his cup in polite cheers. 

“Stay back, do not be fooled! Any moment he could strike. Down, monster, down!” The whip cracks in the air between them. Barclay turns, giving him a reproachful look over his glasses, which makes the crowd laugh louder. 

“Quickly, hurry away from here before he goes mad! Mad I say!”

Barclay huffs, annoyed, and waves goodbye to the audience before gesturing towards the exit into the final showroom, where baby 'Jackalopes' wait to soothe their nerves. The crowd leaves in good spirits, still tossing out the odd chuckle. 

Joseph wipes sweat from his neck, “Was that alright?”

“You were great! And so full of shit that Ned Chicane himself would be proud.”

Joseph beams at him, then hurriedly adjusts his jacket as the next group enters. He experiments with his patter, figures out quickly which comments get the best reaction, he and Barclay developing a double-act as the day goes on. Barclay growls a few times, lunges once to shrieks of surprise, but otherwise remains calm. 

At the last group, Joseph adds a flourish with the whip as he says, “This creature is mere moments away from a bout of animalistic rage!”

The whip connects with Barclay’s shoulder and his gaze snaps to Joseph, eyes burning. 

Then he snarls, stands, and lifts Joseph by his lapels. His feet kick uselessly in the air and he drops the whip, hands flying atop of Barclay’s on instinct. The screams of surprise and delight surround them, but all he can hear is the low, inhuman growl coming from the other man. 

By the time Barclay lowers him to the ground, he’s so lightheaded he wobbles when his feet find the stage in the now-empty room. 

“That oughta get them talking.” Barclay brushes a loosened strand of hair from his forehead, touch so light he can’t believe it’s coming from the same man who just hoisted him like a sack of cheap flour.

“I sure hope so. Um, shall we change and head out to the stand? I’d like to be wearing something more breathable as soon as possible.”

“Sounds good. See you in the kitchen, partner.” Barclay heads out the secret back door.

“See you there soon.” Joseph calls after him.

He waits until there are no more footfalls, double checks the tent is empty.

Then he yanks his pants open, sweat dripping down his stomach, and strokes himself. He doesn’t dare sit down, can’t spare even a second more of composure. The fantasy that comes to him is like nothing he’s ever conceived of. 

_The tent is empty this time, and the whip once again connects with Barclay’s arm. He growls, yanks him down to the ground, pinning his hands above his head._

_“Feel like playing rough, pretty boy?”_

_“Pretty boy? Where on earth did that nameMPhmm!” A strong hand clamps across his mouth and he yelps, struggling just so he can feel an intoxicating burst of helplessness._

In the stuffy tent, he slaps a over his mouth to stifle the desperate sounds spilling out of it.

_“I said I’d be fine if you caught me with the whip. Didn’t say I’d let it go without getting some revenge.” He pulls his hand back with a teasing grin, “any last words?”_

_Joseph licks his lips, “do your worst.”_

_Barclay drops down, drags messy kisses across his throat before attacking his lips. Joseph kisses him back with every ounce of energy he has, tugs at his hair just to hear him growl._

_“Feel how hard I am, pretty boy? I’m gonna ruin you, and you’re gonna feel so goddamn good when I’m done. Won’t be able to walk for a week, but don’t worry; I’ll take good care of you.”_

He comes across the dusty ground, doubles over, gasping through his fingers. 

What in god’s name was that? 

Barclay would never say such things, would never be so rough. He sneaks soda pop to couples who are short on cash at the stand, braids Dani’s hair as she confides in him like a sister, looks at Joseph so sweetly that he fears his heart will turn to sugar crystals from the attention. 

Joseph would never really want to be manhandled by him or at his mercy right?

“Right.” He says aloud, pulling up his pants. 

Not even the Jackalopes believe him.

\------------------------------------------

Duck stands outside Indrid’s door, hand not yet ready to knock. It’s well after midnight, but the air is oppressively hot, the coastal fog nowhere in sight. 

Duck doesn’t put much stock in fate, bristles when told that things have to happen and there is no way of avoiding them. But he also admits that there are some things that must be faced; the inevitability of death, for instance, or the passage of time.

Or this conversation with Indrid.

He raises his hand.

“Come in!” Indrid calls.

The seer sits on his cot. In the lantern light, Duck spies the gold and pink shawl in his lap, usually-dexterous fingers struggling to pull thread through a rip in the cloth.

“What did you want to speak to me about?” Indrid sets the project aside.

“Can’t you see it comin?”

“No. I see several topics you could raise, which suggests that even as we speak, you’re unsure as to how to proceed.” It’s in that mild, dismissive tone of his, and the annoyance is just the push Duck needs.

He squares his shoulders, “Indrid, we can’t go on like this.”

“Like what?” The pale haired man cocks his head.

“You seriously ain’t noticed? Indrid, we keep actin like we’re together.”

“Hardly. We seldom touch one another, and I treat you no more kindly than everyone else.”

“That so? You tellin me you would’ve run hell for leather across camp to warn someone else about that muck bucket?”

“Well, perhaps not as fast…” Indrid picks at the end of the shawl. 

“It ain’t all on you neither. I'm guilty too. It was just so nice and easy to fall into old habits. Bringin you breakfast, stayin up with you until all hours of the night, goin to you first when somethin’s troublin me, stoppin to look at you every ten minutes when you’re standin out as the illustrated man-”

Indrid smiles and Duck’s resolve almost fails him, driven away by the temptation to sit down beside him and rest in his arms. 

“Point is, we ain’t doin ourselves or each other any favors actin that way. All we’re doin is keepin ourselves in limbo. So I, uh, I came to tell you that from here on out, we gotta treat each other as coworkers. Maybe as friends if we can swing that without fallin right back into flirtin.”

They’re close enough that he watches Indrid’s turn from hopeful to sad behind red lenses. 

“Ah, I see.” Indrid says flatly.

“Take it there were futures where I said somethin else?” Duck automatically reaches for his hand, catches himself midway and shoves it into his pocket instead. 

“Yes. A few where you said you thought we should try again. I, ah, got my hopes up prematurely. I apologize.”

“There just ain’t a way to do that Indrid.”

“Why not? I, I know I hurt you a great deal, and there are faded bruises on my heart from you. But we have both grown since then, learned more than a few things the hard way. I suppose I was hoping we could-”

“Could what? Say a few “I’m sorrys” and be done. Kiss a little and figure the rest would sort itself out?”

“No, nothing so childish. Please, Duck, stop making it sound as if I don’t grasp the magnitude of what I did. It’s not as if I left to live a life of peace and luxury.”

“Naw, just hid away from anyone who cared about you because you misread a future and got scared.”

Indrid whirls to face him full-on, “Scared does not sufficiently describe the horror of thinking the swirling, furious entity we are trying to stop had settled on me as a target, that it would stop at nothing to remove me from the equation. That I would cost us more dearly than I already had. Minimizing my feelings does not cast you in the best light, Duck.”

“You wanna talk about minimizin? Do you have any fuckin idea how much it hurt to find you’d never even considered marryin me, lied to my fuckin face, and skipped out in the dead of the goddamn night without so much as a fuckin goodbye?”

“I imagine it was not unlike learning that you were willing to marry the next person who would have you. Truly, that showed me your offer was genuine and not born of desperation, for Duck Newton only proposes to those he cannot live without.”

The contempt and sarcasm in Indrid’s voice sends his hackles up, “Forgive me for tryin to have a normal fuckin life after you broke my heart and left us all swingin in the goddamn wind.”

“Ah yes, because you hung around so long after I did.” Indrid crosses his arms, “It’s not as if you, oh, I don’t know, ran off too. At least I kept updating everyone about where the gate was moving and when abominations were due. Your abilities do not allow you to protect people from afar, and yet you left our friends all the same.”

“Stop tryin to turn this around on me! I left because I was sick and tired of losin everything that mattered to me because of this goddamn monster huntin.”

“And I left because I couldn't bear the thought of losing what I loved most in the world to the same hunt. I told you as much that night.”

“You mean the night you made me think your love for me was stronger than your fear of what you saw comin? That was a load of bullshit, so why should I believe anythin else you said then?” Duck paces, needing to direct the energy of the fight somewhere other than bellowing his lungs out.

“Because it was the truth! I thought the one lie would soften the blow, I foresaw there was no way out that did not break both our hearts and I wanted, that is, I do not always have the easiest time predicting emotions-”

“No fuckin kidding. I swear, sometimes it’s like you don’t understand them at all, like they’re fuckin wasted on you.”

Indrid stamps his foot, “I do and they are not! At least I reacted to fear and heartbreak by running and mourning. You, on the other hand, responded to heartbreak by acting as though what you and I had meant so little that it was easily replaced. That was not only cruel, it was, it was inhuman.”

“What the hell would you even know about whether a feelin is inhuman or not, you’re a goddamn monster!”

Indrid reels back, then goes perfectly still.

“Shit, Indrid I-”

“Out.” Indrid’s face and voice are flat and icy as he points at the door, refusing to look at him. 

Duck wants to stay and argue. He wants to resolve this mess. 

He wants to fall to the floor and apologize, show that he regrets the words, beg for a chance to make it right. 

He exits the trailer, hot air suffocating him on the short walk to his own. Sleep is fitful at best, the morning coming all too soon. Any hope of reconciliation in the light of day is dashed, first by Indrid’s absence not only at breakfast, but from any space where he and Duck might cross paths. 

Then the shattered bits of it are crushed to sand when, for the first time since he returned to Amnesty, he glances into the shadows during his act and finds no red-tinted gaze looking back at him. 

Just shadows and dust. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------  
On his third day of acting as Barclay’s keeper, Joseph gets a surprise when a firm hand taps his shoulder. 

“Hello, son.” William Stern smiles politely.

“Father? This is unexpected. I didn’t realize you and your friends had any interest in the circus.”

“We don’t, usually. But after hearing you talk about it, I became intrigued. Not to mention it seems that this place is important to you. The least I can do is visit.”

These are the most supportive words his father has said to him in months, and he basks in them while showing his father and two other men around the Cryptonomica. Barclay had to leave his spot as the man-ape early in order to wrestle their on-the-fritz popcorn machine into submission. So Joseph contents himself with showing off the taxidermied specimens, the samples of supposedly magical or mysterious fauna, and the baby Jackalopes. They laugh, ask questions, and he’s walking on air when they step into Indrid’s room. 

The crowd is small, but Indrid notices them and gives a slight nod. He’s been subdued the last two days. The reason for this is not a mystery to any of them, given that he and Duck were shouting loud enough to be heard on the other side of the bay (or, in Joseph’s case, from Barclay’s trailer, where they were sharing a cold beer in a futile bid to keep cool).

The four men make their way to the front of the stage.

“Aren’t they even more amazing up close? The illustrated man designed many of them himself.”

“Fascinating.” His father examines the birds, vines, and symbols on Indrid’s right arm. Turns back to his friends, one of whom holds out an unfolded sheet of paper. Joseph glimpses the image, a pair of interlocking symbols.

Interlocking symbols that are also tattooed on Indrid’s arm.

“That’s a match alright. Boys, cuff him.”

\------------------------------------

Indrid sees the future coming the moment the elder Stern and his companions step into his room. Trying to conceal his arm behind his back would read as guilt, and so he leaves it exposed, watches as they spot the tattoo they’re searching for. 

To his credit, when his father gives the order, Joseph steps between the police and Indrid, “Hold on, what is this all about?

“Do you remember the Plata Bridge collapse in Utah, about two years ago? The one that killed 46 people?”

45, actually, but now is not the time for that correction. 

“Yes” Joseph nods, “I recall speculation that the cause wasn’t natural or architectural but rather...human.” He turns, and Indrid braces himself for the look of horror, the backing away.

“I still fail to see what this has to do with Indrid.” Joseph stays put.

“One of the witnesses of the collapse gave a description of a man he saw wandering around right before it all happened, one who seemed agitated. Tall, pale hair, and a tattoo on his forearm that matches this one exactly.”

A crowd is gathering, drawn by the commotion. He can faintly hear Ned and Mama telling people to get out of their way.

“There’s nothing to suggest Indrid was there, and no reason to assume he is the only person in the country with that tattoo.”

“Amnesty Circus performed in Provo two days before the collapse. Mr. Cold was working with them at the time.”

Mama and Ned, tailed by Aubrey, appear at the back of the crowd. Indrid makes sure they’re looking at him, and shakes his head. He can see clearly what resisting would lead to, and it is not a pleasant sight. 

“And of course,” one of the officers smirks as he cuffs Indrid’s wrists, “If Mr.Cold wasn’t involved, I’m sure he can give us a satisfactory explanation during questioning.”

A future resets, showing the same man grinning down at him, Indrid’s blood on his knuckles. 

“At least interview him here, or let him get his clothes on for god’s sake-”

“Joseph, if you wanted a say in such matters, you should have taken me up on my job offer. Now,” he pushes in son aside, and Indrid notes the flash of anger that Joseph quickly suppresses, “let’s get Mr.Cold down to the station.”

Indrid glances at the crowd once more, and this time Duck is there, Ned restraining him by his shoulder. Indrid nearly cracks. He wants to cry out in fear, weep with remorse, beg Duck with all the love in his heart not to lose faith in him. 

But would good would that do? He schools his face into a blank slate, lets the emotions roll off him. They’re wasted on him anyway. 

He is, after all, a monster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, Duck did not marry Minerva. Her role in the story will be clarified later.


	6. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joseph argues. Indrid remembers. Duck asks a question.

_“What the fuck is it doin?”_

_“I don’t know! Hold your ground!” His wings extend, shielding Duck and Barclay from the oncoming swirl of shadows._

_“It ain’t supposed to do this! Aubrey, does this mean-”_

_“No, Sylvain is still there, something let part of the Quell through!”_

_“We oughta-AH, fuck!”_

_“Arlo!”_

_“It’s alright, I’ll be alright, I can just-”_

_“Thacker, at your six!” Duck’s warning comes too late, and Mama’s shot misses. Arlo Thacker is yanked back through the gate. In the last glimpse they get of his face, it’s blank._

They haven’t seen him since. Even an expedition through the gate and into Sylvain failed to bring back any sign. Mama hasn’t given up hope. Or maybe she’s refusing to accept defeat. The two are difficult to differentiate with her. 

Indrid rolls onto his side in the cell, wincing when his elbow brushes the bruise on his ribs. It was only through a small magical interference on his part that they did not break or think to remove his glasses. They questioned him for an hour and a half, leaving him with a split lip, a bloody nose, and nightstick marks on his legs and shoulders.

His own mind is no more merciful, fixating on the night before the Plata Bridge incident, the night they lost Thacker, and the day of the collapse itself. 

_“Please, I need you to listen to me. You need to clear the bridge, block it off until sundown. Otherwise something terrible will happen.”_

_“That sounds like a threat, mister,”_

_“No, officer, it is a prediction!”_

All morning, failure after failure. 

_“You need to shut down this toll booth, stop traffic from this direction.”_

_“Says who?”_

_“Please, I would not ask it if it were not a matter of life and death.”_

_“Yeah, yeah, met toll jumpers like you before. Scram.”_

The visions of the collapse were unceasing, and that made him desperate.

_“Sweet god in heaven!”_

_“Don’t be alarmed. I, I know I am frightening to behold, but time is off the essence!”_

_“Devil, some kind of goddamn, Pete, where’s that fucking rifle?”_

_“Nono, please, you need to steer towards shore, away from the bridge, please, otherwise you will--oh no.”_

He can still hear the collision perfectly. The crack and crunch of boat hitting beam. The rumble of ignition. The crumbling and splintering and screaming. Screams of agony and fear and panic, echoing in his ears as he flew from the scene, dust on his feathers and blood on his name.

All his doing. 

All his fault. 

On the shoddy cot, he draws his knees to his chest. He loves earth so, loves it’s people. Yet all he has been to them, time and again, is an ill omen. A prophet of doom.

The Kepler Devil. 

Even as he shuts his eyes and wishes for freedom, he knows this cell is where he belongs. 

Raised voices draw his attention. One of them is Hayes, the name the other two officers used when referring to the elder Stern. 

The other is Joseph. His powers, while working, are garbled from the stress of the memories, plus the exhaustion and pain plaguing his body, so he cannot get a sufficient read on what’s coming. 

As the two men argue, the door to the jail section of the building swings open. Given that Indrid is the only one here, it must be someone looking for him. He refuses to give whoever it is the satisfaction of watching him crawl over to cower in the far corner of the cell. 

“‘Drid?”

“Duck?” 

The human spots him, dashes to the cage, drops to his knees when Indrid’s legs fail him and he stumbles onto the cold floor. 

Indrid reaches for him, then remembers their last conversation and pulls back, “Why did you come?”

Duck offers his hand through the bars, “You really don’t know?”

“It seems like any of my other ‘coworkers’ could have come instead.” He sniffs.

A _clunk_ as Duck rests his forehead on the bars, “I’m such a fuckin fool, ‘Drid. And I’m an ass for sayin some of the shit I did. You were hopin for a second chance for us. I was too. I was just too fuckin scared to admit it.”

“I hurt you terribly Duck. You’re not a fool for wishing to avoid such an outcome again.”

“That ain’t no excuse for how I acted night before last. Emotions ain’t wasted on you; you were chuckin ‘em at me by the handful, tryin to get me to see you still cared about me, that you were sorry. I was the one who couldn't decide what to do with ‘em.”

“All the same” Indrid meets his eyes for the first time, “I ought to have done more to show you how truly sorry I was. Am.”

“‘M sorry too. But the way I see it, I can keep nursin the hurt to keep it like it was the night you left, or I can set it aside and pay attention to all the things you said and done over the last few months. And I can admit that I ran off an married because it was a way I could handle losin Thacker, and then the bridge, and then you in a way that let me pretend I could just leave my old life behind, that I could start over. That would mean the loss couldn’t touch me because it belonged to another man. Losin you was the catalyst, but the decision was still mine.”

It’s the first time he’s owned the mistake so plainly, and it catches Indrid off gaurd. 

With cautious hope, he whispers, “you know, you still haven’t answered my question.”

Duck grips, white-knuckled, to the bars, “Only reason I came here with Joseph instead of runnin straight after you was because he said I stood a better chance of seeing you if he came and threw his weight around. I came because I couldn’t stand the thought of you stuck here for god knows how long, thinking I’d given up on you. Thinkin I was angry with you.”

“Thinking I’m a monster?” 

Duck winces like he’s been slapped, “Yeah. That too. You ain’t a monster, Indrid. Or, well, uh-” Duck seems to be searching for a word, struggling to compose the thought. This is the only reason Indrid is not hissing at him to get out for thinking now is the time for caveats.

“You are a monster, in that you look like, y’know, you. But that version of you is one of the most breathtakin sights I’ve ever seen. I used to watch you flyin and wonder how anyone saw that and thought you were anythin but the eighth wonder of the world. And you got the biggest heart of anyone I ever known, you came back to Amnesty even when you thought none of 'em would forgive you because you didn't want to leave our friends without help. So yeah, you’re a monster, but that’s one of the things that makes you so goddamn amazin. Fuck, please tell me that made sense?”

Indrid smiles, weakly, and nods.

“But even more than not wantin you to be stuck here thinkin horrible things, it’s just” he takes a shaky breath, “when I saw them takin you away, it was like someone jabbed a hook through my heart and yanked it out. I realized just how much I still love you, ‘Drid, and I the fact it took you landing in jail for me to see that says some things about me I ain’t proud of. Point is I, I wanted to ask” he holds out his hand once more, “can we try again? You and I?”

“Duck I, I’m not sure how soon I’ll be free, or if I’ll have to escape. You and the others might have to move on to chase the gate, or to avoid being caught up in this.”

“I know. I’m askin your permission to stay by you, even if it means waitin, even if it means laggin behind the others. Hell, I’ll go on the run with you if that’s what it comes to.”

“I…” he has to answer thoughtfully, because this time he has to tell the truth. He looks at Duck's face, at the love and regret and hope etched there and knows his answer.

“I accept your offer, Duck Newton.” 

When he touches their fingers together, the tap of his emotions twists on, and tears spill down his cheeks. He presses Duck’s palm to his unbruised cheek, murmuring apologies and gratitude into in both languages. Glances up to find eyes, one blue and one brown, gazing at him with love he doesn’t yet believe he deserves.

Duck does his best to embrace him through the bars, gets one arm around his waist and draws the other towards him to kiss Indrids hand. 

“I can’t promise I’ll be perfect, but I’m tellin you now I’m gonna do my best to do right by you.”

“I, I do not expect us to move forward without h-hiccups” Indrid wipes his eye, “and I will do what is needed to build a life together.”

As he sniffs, trying to get his breathing under control, he takes in their surroundings, “This is a rather different setting for this scene than I imagined.”

Duck barks out a surprised laugh, “Yeah, not what I pictured either.”

“You thought about this?”

“So goddamn much, sugar. Used to fall asleep dreamin about comin back to you, fallin to my knees and tellin you how much you meant to me. Or you turnin up on my doorstep, tellin me you wanted to try again.”

“Duck” Indrid sighs, leaning forward to kiss him. He clanks his head on the bars instead.

“Ow, damn it all.” The shift in position brings him into the light from the bare bulbs above them, and he watches anger appear in the lines of Duck’s face.

“Those lousy sons of-, christ, ‘Drid, they did all this to you thinkin you’d confess didn’t they.”

“Indeed. Much of it after I’d given them my alibi.” 

“Motherfuckers.” Duck growls. 

“I’m not sure of the chances of them getting through to Leo tonight. Though I am grateful Ned suggested getting Leo’s assistance as an alibi when we realized I’d been identified as a suspect.”

“Perks of bein friends with an old crook. Hold on, wait here.” Duck disappears down the hall, and after a metallic thud and some splashes returns with a damp handkerchief. He cups Indrids chin, dabs gently at the blood around his mouth and nose. 

“Which tattoo was it anyway? Thought you altered your human form so you had all new ones, just as a precaution.”

“I did. Unfortunately, the one the witness described is the one I could not alter.” He holds out his arm so Duck can see the interlocking symbols; one is a vertical line with three diagonal slashes. “I” in Sylph, his native tongue. The other, a U-shape with a small dot in the center, is a “D.” 

“Holy shit, you never told me that one was done in real ink.”

“I, ah, thought it would make me seem too much like an impulsive young lover if you knew it was etched into my form.”

Duck traces the symbols with a fingertip, “You really want this on you forever, in both forms, huh?”

“I know better than most how malleable and unexpected the future can be. But I knew then, just as I know now, that even if I lost you, I would want a reminder of what we had, even if it pained me to look at it at times. I wanted proof that, ah, that there was a time in my life when someone loved me in the way you did.”

Duck guides his arm through the gap,places three kisses on the tattoo, “Gonna be lots of times like that from here on out.”

The door to the main office swings open, and Duck jumps to his feet, staying firmly between Indrid and whatever is coming.

“Well, they’ve agreed to actually call Mr. Tarkesian, rather than dismissing your alibi out of hand.” Joseph is noticeably flushed from the argument.

“Thank fuck. Any luck talkin them into, I dunno, leavin a fuckin blanket back here or somethin?”

“No. They insist it’s warm enough. However, I suspected they would say as much.” Joseph strips off his shirt to reveal...another shirt. He hands the less sweaty one to Indrid, “That’s not much, but it’s better than being stuck in a stone cell in what’s functionally your underclothes.”

“Thank you. For everything.” Indrid stands, slipping the shirt on, “Did they give any sense of when they would try to contact Leo?”

“If they don’t want me hounding them night and day, they’ll do it now.”

A future finally stabilizes in his mind, “Ah, you’re quite right. I foresee officer Ross saying something similar. And suggesting that you should be brought on as the police dog ‘because of all your yapping.”

Joseph sends a glower towards the door, “Unsurprising commentary, to say the least. Duck, I know you don’t want to, but we should leave for the time being. The longer we hang around, the greater the odds of them antagonizing you for fun or trying to loop you in as a possible accessory to the crime.”

Indrid nods in response to the question he sees coming, and Duck offers a reassuring smile before kissing his knuckles. 

As they reach the door, Joseph turns, “If you’re not out by morning, I’ll be here first thing to do what I can.” 

Then they’re gone, leaving Indrid alone with his thoughts. He returns to the cot, curls onto his side, and traces the the interlocking symbols on his arm, savoring the memory of Duck’s kisses on them until he finally falls asleep.

\---------------------------------------

It’s half past three in the morning as Duck leans on the lamppost, nearly passing out for the third time that night. In spite of Barclay dosing him with the strongest coffee he could manage, his eyelids are getting aggressive in their demands to droop. 

The front door to the police station swings open, and a tall, thin figure makes a hesitant path down the steps. Duck runs, steadies Indrid just as he stumbles onto the sidewalk. The smile the silver-haired man gives him suggests he saw this coming, but is overjoyed about it all the same. 

Duck pulls him into a hug, and for a moment the nighttime murmurs of the city are drowned out by Indrid’s shaky breathing and whispers of thanks in his ears. 

“Told you I’d wait.” He says as they pull back, grinning in a way he hope disguises just how terrified he’s been these last few hours. 

The cool fingers stroking his cheek suggest it does not, as Indrid smiles softly, “You always were a stubborn one. Leo came through, so they had no reason to hold me any longer.”

They don’t speak much on the way to the truck, though Duck does drape four blankets over his companion once he’s seated, or on the drive back to Amnesty. 

When they arrive, Indrid steps from the truck, fabric drawn around him like a cocoon, and hesitates. 

“Go to your trailer.” Duck says, and when Indrid turns with a worried look he adds, “I got it all set up for you. I’ll follow you as soon as I let the others know you’re back.”

“Oh thank fuck!” There’s a whisper-shout as Aubrey and Dani emerge from the shadows. The mugs sitting on the steps of their trailer suggest the pair had been waiting up for the news. Indrid gives a grateful, exhausted smile as the women sandwich him in a gentle hug. 

“I left you some arnica balm for the bruises. Took me a few tries to dig it up in my trunk.” Dani kisses Indrid’s cheek. The man nods and mouths, “thank you.”

“Don’t worry about telling everyone the news, we can take care of that. Just get mothman home and taken care of, okay?” Aubrey squeezes his shoulder and he gives her a thumbs up.

Once they’re in the trailer, Duck keeps the lamp low, turns on the portable stove he borrowed from Barclay and heats up water. Some goes into the teapot, the rest into a washbasin. 

“Gonna need you to strip down. Can you manage or do you need me to help?”

“I believe I can manage that much.” Indrid reluctantly sets aside the blankets, removes the loaned shirt and his small shorts. By the time he’s done, Duck has a mug of tea ready, hands it to him before kneeling on the ground with the water and a clean cloth.

Indrid sips the tea and hums, happily, “Perfect.”

“Six sugars, just the way you like it.” He starts on Indrid’s chest and stomach, carefully wiping away grime, moves on to his shoulders and arms. By the time his upper body is clean, Indrid is purring steadily. 

"Missed that noise so fuckin much."

Indrid blushes, purrs louder.

Duck makes it halfway up his calves, then pauses, “Do, uh, there’s still some dirt higher up. Happy to get it, but understand if you’d rather do it yourself.”

Indrid spreads his legs, allowing Duck to scoot closer and clean the splotches of dust from them. He appreciates the view while he’s there, catches Indrid noticing him doing so. 

“Soon, my sweet. At a point where we’re not ready to collapse into sleep at any moment.”

“Agreed. Ain’t no harm in lookin though, is there?” He grins, and Indrid laughs. Then gasps as he presses a kiss to the inside of his right thigh. Duck freezes, gives him the chance to nudge him away. Instead, slender fingers pet his hair. He turns his head, gives the left thigh a kiss of it’s own, sighing against the cool skin when the familiarity and fondness of the action overwhelms him. 

He sits up, and Indrid kisses his forehead before allowing him to stand. He heats clean water while the seer changes into his pajamas. Since the cuts are on Indrid’s face, he sits next to him on the bed to tend to them. When the dried blood he wasn’t able to clear before finally disappears, he’s relieved to see the cut on his lip isn't deep. 

When there’s no more tending to be be done, he sets the basin aside and wipes off his hands. 

“You want me to stay the night?”

Indrid grins, “I intended to cling to you like lichen if you attempted to leave.”

Duck undresses as Indrid slips beneath the covers, leaving space for him. 

“There a position that feels best with your bruises?” 

Indrid tosses and turns for a moment, pauses to look at the futures before responding, “On my side facing you.” He finishes adjusting while Duck turns off the lamp. 

In the darkness, Indrid’s eyes give off the faintest red glow behind his glasses. 

“Anythin else you need, sugar?”

“A kiss goodnight? Oh, ohmmmm.” Indrid’s arm drapes over him as he meets him for the kiss, lips oddly cool and unendingly intoxicating. He threads his fingers into fine hair, deepens the kiss as he pours hundred’s of nights worth of wishes into Indrid’s mouth. A tongue teases his lips and he parts them, yielding gladly as mouth and teeth and tongue explore with growing hunger. 

Indrid pulls back just enough to whisper, “Duck” and the hand on his back tightens, as if Indrid is afraid this is a dream that will escape if he loses focuses. 

Duck tenderly strokes his side, kisses him again, as slow and sweet as syrup and as eager as the first time. 

“I’m right here, ‘Drid. And I ain’t goin anywhere. I promise.”


	7. What You Deserve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joseph gives orders. Barclay brings breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The use of "babe" is slightly anachronistic, so lets just go with it being more common on Sylvain than Earth at the time.

Joseph jerks awake on the floor of Indrid’s trailer. 

No, not Indrid’s trailer. Barclay’s trailer. 

He’d been up well after midnight, planning out what to do if his father and the others refused to follow up on Indrid’s alibi. The only reason he stopped was because, while pacing back and forth in the supply tent, he’d tripped and clanged into Magnus' cage. The bear was relatively unfazed. 

Barclay, however…

_“Careful, hate to see those good looks run into the wrong side of a bear.” Barclay holds out his hand, helping Joseph up._

_“I don’t know, ever since I snuck him that chunk of steak that fell into the dishwater he’s been fairly friendly. You know, for a giant bear.”_

_“All the same, you fall asleep out here by his cage, might wake up missing an ear, pretty boy.”_

_“I..,guh, that is, I’d rather not go back home for obvious reasons. And Duck is in Indrid’s trailer. I suppose I could take his but-”_

_“Could sleep in mine? Promise I don’t bite or anything.” It’s delivered so earnestly that Joseph isn’t sure if it’s a come on or an attempt to assure him of his safety. Soon enough, he’s laying on a light blanket, falling asleep to the steady sound of Barclay’s breathing._

He scrambles up, searching for his watch. 

“Shit!” It’s well after eight in the morning. He yanks on his pant and undershirt (he’s taken to storing spare clothes at Amnesty) just as the door opens. 

“Morning.” Barclay grins, hands him a cup of coffee and a plate of biscuits and bacon.

“Oh, thank you, but I should-”

“Indrid got home in the middle of the night. Aubrey and Dani came by to let me know, but you were so dead to the world, figure I’d wait until morning to tell you.”

“Thank the lord.” He slumps down onto the floor, resting his back against the side of the bed and taking a long sip of coffee with double the normal amount of cream (just how he likes it). 

“No, thank _you_ , Joseph.” Barclay sits down beside him, “Pretty sure he wouldn’t be home so soon if it wasn’t for you. And i know it can’t have been easy facing down your dad that way.”

“I wouldn’t say it was enjoyable, no.” Joseph reaches up to set the plate on small table to avoid setting his hand down in it as he talks. 

“Thank fuck it’s Tuesday. Think we all need a day to recover. Speaking of which, you got a favorite dessert?”

“Peach pie. Why?”

“Figured I could make that tonight as a thank you.”

“Barclay that’s, that’s really not necessary.” 

“Hey, you saved one of my best friends. Think that’s deserving of a reward.”

“No” Joseph tightens his grip on his mug, “I don’t deserve anything for doing what I did. It was the right thing to do. Indrid is my friend, and being at Amnesty is the happiest I’ve been in years. I wanted to help him. Help all of you. And beyond that, I know how my father’s men operate; even if Indrid had done something wrong, he deserved to be treated like an innocent man until proven otherwise and-” he stops, stares at ripples in his coffee when he finds Barclay looking at him with an unfamiliar kind of affection.

“I’m sorry, I know you’re just trying to be kind. But I don’t want to feel obligated to do things for me because of what I did for Indrid.”

“Huh.” Barclay says nothing else, rubs his beard absentmindedly. Joseph is suddenly, painfully aware of the smallness of the space, the lack of distance between them, and the rising heat that is definitely coming from inside him rather than from the morning sun. 

“What if...there was something I wanted to give you, something I thought you deserved, but it had nothing to do with last night?” Barclay taps a finger on the floorboards. 

“That, I would be interested in.” He whispers. 

Barclay gingerly lifts the mug from between his hands and sets it far away from them. When he turns back, it takes only a beat of hesitating before he presses their lips together.

“You really want me that way?” Joseph leans into the hand Barclay rests on his cheek.

“So fucking much Joe. Oh, uh, sorry, you like the longer version-”

“Actually, I like it when you call me that. Just you though.” He smiles, affection and desire warring with all the limits he set about preparing for a life without Barclay. 

Barclay beams like he just gave him the key to the city, then blushes, “Would you like another, uh, ‘reward? Can be just as light as the last one.” 

Joseph meets his eyes, finds nothing in them but genuine care and warmth. The hunger flickers at the edges, but Joseph realizes Barclay is waiting for him. In spite of being able to feel him trembling with want, in spite of the weeks of flirtation, the other man is still waiting for permission. There are no conditions on this.

“Oh, fuck it.” Joseph lunges forward, yanking Barclay into a feverish kiss by his hair. He’s expecting a moan, gets a whimper instead as Barclays hands cup his cheeks.

“Oh, oh Joe, fuck” Barclay rests their foreheads together, one hand continuing to trace the shape of Joseph’s face, the other skating down his shoulder and side to rest on his waist.

“You doing alright big guy? Seem ready to swoon on meOH, hah, hello.” The larger man climbs into his lap to straddle him, kissing his face plaintively. 

“Better than, than alright, fuck, babe, I’ve been dreaming about this for weeks. Never, never thought you’d really want, can’t believe-” he drags his lips down Josephs neck, beard scratching sensitive skin at the join of his neck and shoulder, more whimpers spilling into the air. 

“That makes two of us.” He tugs Barclay’s ear with his teeth, which gets a playful growl and a string of kisses around his throat. 

“How are you so fucking calm?” The question comes out in a laugh.

“One of us must maintain a sense of control” he threads his fingers into auburn hair, tugs Barclay’s head back, first to kiss the column of his throat, then to watch his eyes shut in bliss and his lips make soft moans as Joseph moves his head as he pleases, “or we’ll end up rutting on the floor like alley cats and cumming far too fast”

“You sayAY” Barclays arms tighten around his shoulders when he tugs his hair sharply, “that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Is that what you want?” Joseph releases his hold, switches to smoothing his hands up and down the planes of Barclays chest. He drops any trace of command or teasing from his voice, let’s the question stay genuine. 

“I want so many goddamn things right now, Joe.” He looks so joyously overwhelmed Joseph leans in for another kiss, soft and brief, because if he’s going to be with Barclay then damn it, he’s going to make the most of it.

“But I don’t, uh, that is, I don’t wanna go too fast or ask you for something elaborate if you wanna keep things simple.”

“Barclay, you could ask me to do acrobatic sex acts on Jake’s high dive right now and I would happily comply.” 

The cook rumbles out a laugh, “rather not get scolded by Mama for misusing our equipment. I, um, what I’m really dying for is a chance to look at you naked.”

“Didn’t get your fill after the muck bucket incident?”

“First” Barclay kisses his right cheek, “soon as you turned your back, I made damn sure not to stare. Second” a kiss to his left this time, “there’s seeing you like that, and then there’s being able to look at you like that. I wanna look at you until I can see every detail perfectly when I close my eyes.”

Joseph smiles indulgently, kisses along the curve of his lower lip, “In that case, get on the bed.”

“Um, we might wanna stay on the floor. The bed’s not en-, uh, reinforced enough to handle fucking on it.”

“Why do I sense you learned that the hard way?” He pats Barclay’s thigh so he’ll let him up.

The cook shudders, “There are some places you really don’t wanna get jabbed with a bedspring.”

Joseph grabs the blanket he slept on and shakes it out to it’s full size. Barclay sits on the cot, hurriedly unlacing and tugging off his boots. Joseph waits until he’s finished and kicked his boots towards the door. Then he pulls off his shirt, and undoes his pants with ease, folding them and his underwear swiftly and setting them aside. 

It’s hardly a striptease, but from the look on Barclay’s face, one would think Joseph had just done all that while backed by horn section playing a sultry tune. 

He steps to Barclay, strokes his cheek with his fingers. Grins when he spots the growling tent in his jeans. 

“Are you planning on joining me?” He arches an eyebrow, keeping his tone cool. With past partners, sex happened near immediately after their clothes hit the floor. That suited him fine, as being naked left him feeling exposed in ways he’d rather not be, but mean he seldom got to ask for what he wanted. Never had much chance to explore those desires that burned him up when he imagined them. He often felt like he was forgettable to the people he was with, even when they were tangled together. 

Standing in front of Barclay, he feels invincible and so deeply, achingly desirable. 

“I, um” Barclay looks down, rubs his arm nervously.

“Barclay” Joseph cups his chin to tilt it back up, forces his voice to stay clipped “what do you want?”

“Will you do it for me?”

Joseph smiles, “of course.” 

Barclay throws his arms around Josephs hips, pulling him close enough to kiss and lick his stomach, while small, grateful sounds rumble from his chest. 

Funny, it almost sounds like he’s purring. 

Joseph kneels down, toys with the first button. Barclay whines, bends forward awkwardly to kiss his fingers. 

The first button goes. 

He rubs the second between his finger and thumb, and Barclay dips forward to kiss his nose.

He undoes the second button, runs his hands approvingly across Barclays chest, dragging his fingers through the dark and pressing kisses to the patchwork of scars.

“Circus life has clearly been good for your physique.” 

“Joe.” Barclay breathes out, head tipping back and hands gripping the cot. 

“Right here.” He continues kissing and nipping his way across his chest, undoing the other buttons as he does, “And there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” He sits up slightly to slip the shirt from Barclay’s shoulders.

“Now to free this mouthwatering monster.” He grins before kissing the cook, palming his cock through his jeans.

“Shit, Joe, babe, please do it fast, think it might break a goddamn seam if you don’t.”

“Be patient.” He bites gently at Barclays throat, continues rubbing his cock with calculated slowness, “and stand up.”

Barclay rises and Joseph stands with him. The taller man’s eyes are saucer-wide as Joseph undoes his belt and shoves his pants down. His cock bobs with comic eagerness, and Joseph's own body is sending so much blood south he’s amazed he can still stand. He starts his gaze at Barclay’s calves, draws it slowly up, letting it linger on strong thighs, a cock already dripping pre-cum, a broad chest, and that quietly handsome face. 

It’s like someone shoved a Greek god together with a lumberjack to create a new, more handsome kind of man. One who should be doted on by movie stars and royalty. Yet he’s standing here instead, cheeks turning virgin-pink under Joseph’s appraisal. 

Life of immunity after this or no, he is never going to regret this. Not with Barclay looking at him like that. 

He strokes Barclay’s cheek with one hand, guides him into a kiss. Nods slightly when Barclays hands hover near his hips. 

“Am I right that asking for and receiving permission gets you hot under the collar?” He asks between kisses.

“Uh huh. Speaking of which, uh, AH!” he gasps when Joseph grinds against, “get the feeling you’re done being patient.”

“Yes.”

Barclay grins and falls to his knees hard enough to shake the entire trailed. 

Welcome, wet heat surrounds the head of his cock, and he covers his mouth to avoid altering everyone in a ten mile radius to what’s happening. He’s only half hard, but with Barclay licking and sucking, moaning vibrations up and down his shaft, that changes quickly. 

“Fuck, babe, you taste delicious.” Barclay runs his tongue along his slit for emphasis as his free hand snakes between his legs. 

“Not another inch.” 

Barclay’s hand freezes at the order, and he looks up at Joseph, lips showing the full extent of their pout. 

“Don’t worry, big guy, I’ll take care of you.” He licks his lips, “ _while_ I fuck you.”

Barclay’s forehead rests on his hip as he growls out, “yes.”

Joseph realizes he’s unprepared, and so the dominant tone leaves his voice as he adds, “Uh, that is, if you have a rubber and lube somewhere.”

“Yeah, I should lemme just-” Barclay digs into his shaving bag. As he searches, Joseph busies himself by folding up the strewn clothes and setting them into two neat piles; one for him, and one for Barclay. 

When he turns back Barclay has two condoms in his hand and a fond smile on his face.

“Tidiness is important.” He shrugs.

“Couldn’t agree more.” (He knows this is true, Barclay seeing to the tidiness of the kitchen with a fastidiousness that rivals his own).

“How do you want me?” Barclays hand is shaking, and Joseph steps to him, wrapping an arm around his waist and plucking one of the packets from his hand to set aside. Then he sits on the edge of the bed, and points to the floor between his legs. 

Barclay is there with inhuman speed, looking at but not touching his cock, though Joseph can see how badly he wants to.

“Good boy. Now open yourself up while you see to this situation you’ve created.” He taps his cock against Barclays lips.

“ _I’ve_ created.” Barclay chuckles, opening the first condom, “This from the guy who acts like giving orders all by itself doesn’t get him hard.”

“You can’t prove anythingOH, ahhnnn, fuck, Barclay.” He tangles his fingers into thick hair as Barclay bobs his head, tongue sliding along the underside of his cock. 

There’s an increase in suction when Barclay gasps.

“That’s it, big guy, get yourself nice and ready to take me.”

The whines around his cock grow deeper, the movements of his mouth more erratic as Joseph watches his arm piston back and forth as he fucks himself. 

“I’m impressed with your, AHn, ability to multitask.” He comments, only to whack his hand over his eyes. Of all the ways to sweet talk the man he’s about to fuck, why did he go with that?

A muffled rumble catches his attention, and as he peeks through his fingers Barclay pulls back, shaking with laughter.

His instinct is to be embarrassed, until he sees the glint in Barclay’s eye, tender and accepting. 

It almost looks like love. 

“What’s so funny?” He smirks.

“Nothing. Just, I like that you still say shit like that with your cock down my throat. Helps me remember that you’re still you. That this isn’t a dream, even if it feels like one.”

Joseph cups his cheeks, feels the blush under the skin that matches the one heating his face. Kisses Barclay softly to show he feels the same. He doesn’t dare use his words, unsure what he might confess. 

“Ready?” 

“Uh huh.”

He slides off the cot onto the floor, Barclay staying up on his knees and bracing both arms on the bed. The muscles in his back tense noticeably at the sound of the condom opening. 

Joseph rolls it on, slicks himself up so thoroughly he’s dripping onto the blanket. Presses his cock against Barclay, teasing at the tight ring of muscle. 

Springs groan as Barclay grips at the mattress.

“Relax, big guy” he smooths a hand along that strong back, “nice and easy, deep breaths, there we go, good boy.” He groans as he pushes the head of his cock inside, pausing when Barclay growls. 

“Is that alright? I can stop-”

“Don’t, don’t you fucking dare, just, just been awhile, forgot how good it feels.”

He chances another inch, gets another growl, “fuck, Joe, more, I want more.”

“Patience” he bites the nape of his neck.

“Fuck patience.”

“I thought you wanted me to fuck you.” He drags his hips slowly back and forth, savoring how tight and warm it feels, the way it’s an even better fit whenever he nips gently at Barclay’s shoulder blades. 

A deeper growl this time, though it cuts off quickly, Barclay clearing his throat, “I, I do, fuck, babe, please, wanna be so good for you, to you, want you to, toFUCKfuck.” He fists his hands into the sheets when Joseph thrusts all the way in twice, rapidly.

“You can take that?” It's both teasing and a genuine question.

“Uhhuhnnfuck.” Barclay wiggles his hips.

Joseph loops one arm around Barclays hips, the other around his chest, and pounds into him with the pent up energy from thirty-odd nights of fantasizing. Presses his face to sweat dampened skin, kissing his back and shoulders as he moans.

“Fuck, shit, Joe, yeah, _yes_ babe, like that.”

He’s not going to last, not with the way Barclay sounds, not with the wet, filthy thud of of their bodies connecting, not with how wanted he feels.

The hand holding Barclay’s hip drops down.

“FUCK! Thank you babe, thankyouthankyouthankyou.” 

Joseph leans to kiss his cheek, “You’re welcome, big guyMphmmmm” Barclay turns awkwardly into a full kiss, moans spilling into his mouth as cums spills down his hand. 

Barclay breaks the kiss, gasping, spreads his shaking legs wider as Joseph sets a hand on either hip and rams up into him.

“God, Barclay, yes, yes, you’re so good, so good, so- _fuck_.” He cums, gripping hard enough to leave half-moons in Barclay’s skin. 

He pulls out and slumps backwards, tossing the condom towards the small wastebin. Barclay flops back to join him, landing half on his chest. 

“Damn, that was amazing.” Barclay shifts to better cuddle up to him, head resting beneath his chin. 

“Very. All the ordering you around, that was really okay?”

“Better than okay, Joe. I don’t always want it, but a lot of times it’s nice to let someone I trust take the reins.”

“And your ass.”

Barclay snorts, “that too. Most fellas just assume I wanna be the one doing the fucking.”

“Their loss. Your ass is incredible.”

“Thanks.” Barclay pecks his cheek. 

“So” Joseph shifts, suddenly nervous, “was this a, um, one time offer?”

“Can be if you want it to be.” Barclay rolls up onto an elbow to gaze down at him, “I’m mad for you, Joe, and I’d love to keep doing this. But I won’t push it if you don’t want-”

“I do want. I want so much. Barclay I can’t fully explain it, at least not here in the afterglow, but wanting you has overridden some things I thought I couldn’t get past. I want to be with you, even if it’s only for a week or two.”

Barclay dips down, kisses him chastely as his first love did and whispers, “I feel exactly the same. Partner.”


	8. At Your Service

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Indrid gets back to work. Duck hides. Barclay makes a save.

“Thank fuck they got that sorted out.” Duck watches something from the front of the seers tent, and Indrid doesn’t have to even look up to know what, or rather who, he’s referring to; Barclay and Joseph, stealing kisses as they walk, are visible in all timelines.

“Indeed. Though, I believe Aubrey was saying much the same thing to Jake Tuesday afternoon when we left my trailer hand in hand.”

“Can’t be nearly as glad we’re back together as I am.” Duck lets the entrance flap drop, joins Indrid in the back room. He’d taken Wednesday off from his fortune telling, as he was more rattled from his stay in jail than he cared to mention, and is busy arranging his materials on the new table Ned found for him. Dani found an old length of magenta fabric, from back when they’d tried a pinker costume for her. It covers the large, circular table perfectly, edge just brushing the ground. 

“Gonna be openin time soon. You need anythin?” Duck drapes his arms of his shoulders, kissing the top of his head soothingly.

“No, I believe I am prepared. I do wish I’d been able to fix my lucky shawl; it makes me feel safe.” He tugs at the silver and green cloak Duck used to wear during the lead up to his act. It’s warm, and smells vaguely of pine tar soap, but it is not his gold and pink armor. 

“Don’t worry, sugar. Between you, me, Barclay, and Dani, we should be able to figure out how to stitch it up without makin it worse.”

Indrid turns his head to kiss his bicep, linking their hands together, “You make a good point, my sweet.” He sighs, “I suppose I must release you soon.”

“Show don’t start for another two and a half hours.”

“Yes, but the gates open in three minutes, ohh.” He hums as Duck kisses along his neck.

“Know what I’ve been thinkin about today ? That time outside of Fort Worth.”

“Mmmmmm” Indrid shudders at the memory, sees the offer coming. Wordlessly, he grins at Duck, pushes his chair back slightly, and lifts the tablecloth.

Duck winks, kneels, and crawls under the table, Indrid dropping the cloth after him. 

Warm hands trail up his legs, rub slow circles on the front of his pants. Duck was always adept at finding the quickest way through Indrid’s layers. 

His cock is still soft when Duck shifts his pants down (he’s only ever seen the point in underwear for his Illustrated Man act). He watches, rapt, as the other man kisses and licks along the shaft. Duck smiles up at him, grabs his right hand and rests it in his hair. Indrid strokes the thick locks, moaning softly.

“Christ I missed this.” Duck sighs, then takes the head of Indrid’s cock into his mouth.

“Oh!Ohhhhhhh, Duck, sweet one, yes.” He rolls his hips, only for Duck to gently hold them in place. 

The human pulls back, licks at the head as he murmurs, “appreciate the enthusiasm sugar, but right now, you’re gonna let me do all the work, y’hear?”

“As you wish, my sweetAHah, oh goodness.” His left hand grabs the edge of the table as Duck sucks greedily at the head and works his hand firmly up the shaft. Bright, hungry eyes, one blue and one brown, lock on his. Duck’s always been rather proud of his cocksucking, and it shows in the shine of his eyes, the way he slows when Indrid moans and speeds when he starts relaxing, the obscene, wet sounds of pleasure he lets out, as if he’s a starving man set loose in a banquet. 

Indrid would gladly keep him under this table, lavishing his cock with attention, all day if it weren’t for one small issue.

“Duck, ahhn, I’m about to have visitorsoh, oh no” he drops to a whisper, “they just came into the tent.”

“Shit.” Duck pulls back, disappearing from view. But in place of seeing his boyfriend emerge from under the table, Indrid’s chair is yanked as close as it can go, and a head settles in his lap, breath warm on his aching cock. 

“Enter!” Indrid lilts as best as his voice will allow. 

Two young women step into the room, and he nods politely. 

“Good afternoon, I see you both wish to ask questions regarding romance.”

The women giggle good-naturedly. 

“How would you like me to tell your futures?”

“Ooh, I’d like the crystal ball!” One, strawberry blonde, replies. 

Indrid rests his fingers on it, shuts his eyes, lets small sparks of magic create swirls within the glass, “I see...a short, handsome stranger. Ah, you will not find romantic love for another year, but in that time, you may wish to look into a canine companion. Both because he will bring you great joy, but also because he will bring you into eventual contact with your beloved.” He grins, cutting himself off before he gasps from Duck nuzzling his thigh.

“You’re sure that’s really my future?”

“Very. And I assure you, lapdogs are a wonderful thing.” Under the guise of adjusting his shawl, he reaches a hand down to ruffle Duck’s hair. 

Duck licks the exposed patch of his belly in retaliation. 

“And you, my dear?” 

“I’d like my cards read.”

“An excellent choice. Your question for the cards?” He shuffles the deck.

“What will my true love be like?”

“Let us see.” He lays down the Lovers (in this deck, thinly veiled versions of Duck and himself), followed by the Ace of Cups (Duck’s coffee mug), and the Two of Cups (Matching cups with intertwined hands on the table with them). 

Somehow, he’s not sure the deck is referring to the woman in front of him. He flips through her futures.

“She will be kind. And own a bakery. She will have two children of her own, but they will love you like a mother all the same.”

The women share a smile, slide their money across the table with a thank you, and exit the tent.

“Phew, at least those were simple futuressssoh,ahnnnnnn.” He doubles over as Duck takes him back into his mouth in one, fluid motion. His head bobs relentlessly, and there’s a muffled laugh when Indrid moans.

“You, you absolute torment of, of a man, thinking it’s funny to make me go to pieces in place of employment.” 

A particularly hard suck, and he slaps a hand over his mouth to cover the yelp.

“You, I’m, I’m close, my sweet, you may wish to pull off.”

A hand finds the base of his cock, stroking it firmly. 

Indrid purrs, laughing, “oh ho, I see. Has someone gone too long without the feeling of my cum down his throat?”

Duck moans, right hand gripping Indrid’s thigh.

“Well then, no need to be shy” his hand touches the back of Duck’s head, holding him gently but firmly in place, “you’ll, oh, oh gracious, you can have as much as you please.” He groans, spilling into Duck’s mouth, purring louder as he feels him swallow gratefully. 

Duck tries to pull back, and Indrid tsks, “Ah ah, you were so desperate for this that you risked being caught, you will take all of it.”

A warm tongue laves hungrily at him his cock pulses out the last of it. When he releases Duck and scoots the chair back, the strongman's head nuzzles his stomach, murmuring thanks. 

“‘Drid?”

“Yes, my sweet?”

“Can I stay here, like this, until I gotta go get ready? I wanna, uh, um, eepurckarm.” The last, strange work is mumbled against Indrid’s chest as Duck sits up to stretch his back.

“I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch that.”

(He can, however, see the futures quite clearly, and knows what Duck says when he repeats himself).

Duck seems to know this, grins shyly up at him, “you’re gonna make me say it again just to hear it, ain’t you?”

He nods, kisses his nose. 

“I wanna warm your cock. Not when folks are here, then I’ll just keep my head in your lap. But I been without you so long, darlin, feel like I can’t go two damn minutes without touchin you, hearing you sigh or moan. Please?”

Indrid remembers dozens of nights and afternoons, Duck’s head resting in his lap as they talked, or Indrid drew. The look of bliss that came over him when Indrid ran his fingers through his hair, stroked his cheek. How happy Duck seemed and how wanted Indrid felt. 

The cock warming is new, but Indrid’s not about to complain. 

“Very well.” He purrs indulgently, “although I will want proof, at some point, that you are enjoying this as much as I am.”

Duck grasps his meaning and growls playfully before kneeling back down. Indrid inhales sharply as Duck takes him back into his mouth. He doesn’t suck, simply rests his chin on the chair.

Indrid sets his sketchbook on the table, draws with his right hand and pets Duck with his left. Habit kicks in and he talks as he does this, about the futures, or the past, or how much he missed the other man. Duck hums or huffs in acknowledgment, pulls back a few times to let loose that laugh of his. 

Thursdays are never their busiest day, and so the pairs and trios and single seekers of good news come into the tent slowly. Indrid tells their fortunes, good, bad, or neutral, and keeps to himself the fact that none of their luck can compare to his, here with the single greatest man in the world nestled against him.

With an hour until showtime and no visitors in (fore)sight, he taps Ducks shoulder. Duck meets his eyes, gaze a bit glassy and dripping with lust. 

“You are still enjoying yourself?” 

A nod. 

Indrid gestures to his lap, “show me.”

Duck clambers up from the ground, bumping the table as he straddles Indrid. His rough fingers grab Indrid’s wrist, guiding his hand between his legs. The fabric is soaked. Slowly, Indrid undoes the buttons and slips his hands beneath Duck’s underwear. 

“Fuck” Duck moans, arms wrapping around his shoulder, “fuck, ‘Drid, please, I’ve been hard for so goddamn long, love it when all I’m for is making you feel good, god, _please_.” His faces presses into Indrid’s neck.

“Shhh, my love, I’ll take good care of you.” He teases wet folds before slipping two fingers inside, Duck rolling his hips as soon as he does.

“That’s it, mmmmm, you really did enjoy all that, I can feel how hard you are. Can you come for me like this, my sweet?”

“Yes, fuck, ‘Drid, right there, little more pressure, fuck _fuck_ fuck” he holds Indrid tighter, grinding on his palm as Indrid presses and circles his fingers expertly, “so good, so fuckin good sugar, fuck _‘Drid._ ” 

Indrid keeps one arm around him as he comes, pulls his hand out of his pants and uses the slick to stroke his own cock hurriedly. Duck pants and kiss his throat, chuckles when Indrid pulses onto his belly.

“Ooops.” Indrid kisses him apologetically. 

“Eh, gotta get changed and cleaned up anyway.” He kisses Indrid on each cheek before sighing, “Christ, I missed watchin you come.”

“I will gladly treat you to the sight many more times.” 

Duck hops off of him, doing his pants back up, “how about after the show?”

“My trailer or-oh dear.” The futures show him how their night will really go, “I’m afraid we will do no such thing. The abomination is going to make a move.”

\-------------------------------------------------

Barclay sharpens his axe, grumbling; he’d planned on having a night of passionate, vaguely popcorn-scented sex with his personal Valentino. Instead, he’d had to lie through his teeth and say that he was feeling sick, and also that maybe Joe should spend one night at home to throw his father off about where his loyalty truly lies. 

The plan is simple: Dani and Jake will watch Amnesty, while he and the others head for the south pier, where Indrid foresees the creature emerging. Ned will keep watch while Mama, Duck, Aubrey, Barclay, and Indrid go after it.

It should be easy, given their numbers, but given how much havoc it wrecked when it attacked the circus, Barclay isn’t optimistic.

This turns out to be the correct instinct, as less than an hour later he’s skidding down the dock on his side, splinters piercing his skin. 

Scrambling up, he sees the abomination round on Duck, baring fangs that put butchers knives to shame. It lashes it’s tail, disrupting Aubrey as she tries to cast an immobilizing spell on it. 

The monster lunges, and Duck whips his sword in the air, collaring the beast. It hisses, and launches a stream of something green and vile from it’s mouth. 

Duck twists out of the way, but not fast enough; he’s only saved by the large black wing that shields him, Indrid shrieking in pain as the acid burns a raw patch in the feathers. As Duck tightens his grip, trying to sever it’s head, Mama takes aim with her shotgun. The creature notices, and whips it’s tail out once again with enough force to send Mama flying. 

Ordinarily, she’d be alright. 

Ordinarily, there are no rocks for her to hit her head on. 

Barclay sees the blood on her forehead as she rolls, unconscious, off of the rock and into the water. 

Aubrey yells something, but he doesn’t hear the end of it as he dives into the frigid bay, yanking off his bracelet as he does. The fur helps him with cold, and his vision is slightly better this way. 

He finds Mama sinking downwards, links his arms under hers and swims for the surface. As he gasps for air, he sees a reptilian head, no longer attached to a body, dissolving into the air. 

Duck helps him lift Mama onto the pier, and he replaces his bracelet as he follows her up. Aubrey leans over her, right hand waving a circle of pale light.

“I, I think she should be okay.”

A splutter as Mama spits water onto the dock, “damn right I am. God almighty my head hurts.” She takes in Barclay’s damp state, “thanks for savin my hide.”

He squeezes her hand. Notices the wound on her head (not fatal by any means, but not pretty), the burn on Indrid’s wing that Duck is fussing over, and, under the pier ten yards away, the mangled remains of someone they weren’t fast enough to save.

So much damage for one night. So many nights like this one. 

But his family is safe. 

And now that the creature is dead, Joseph is safe too. 

Some nights, that’s the best he can hope for. 

\----------------------------------

Joseph throws the covers off, invigorated. It’s a new day, and Barclay is waiting for him.

He washes and dresses quickly, combs his hair back, and hurries downstairs. 

“Good morning, son.” His father’s voice freezes him in place. 

“Good morning, father.”

“Off to see you roving gang of degenerates?”

“I’m going to work, if that’s what you mean.”

His father looks at him over his paper, “How much longer do they plan to lurk around this city?”

He refuses to take the bait, “Another two weeks, I believe. So I have at least two more weeks of gainful employment ahead of me.”

His father levels him with a steely smirk, “oh, you have many more than that. But if you’re as fond of Amnesty as I suspect, you have one week remaining. At the start of next week, you will be joining the force.”

“Like hell I will.”

“The choice is ultimately yours. But as I said,” his smile turns to a sneer, “if you value your ‘friends’ you will bid Amnesty farewell very, very soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Tarot cards Indrid draws are all related to love, including strengthening an old love that was at one point fading.


	9. Ruined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barclay keeps up an act. Joseph confesses.

“So that’s it?” Barclay, perched on the cot, frowning sadly, “he just said you had no choice.”

“Not if I want you all to be safe.”

A raised eyebrow, “you really think he has something he could arrest all of us on?”

“I firmly believe he can drum up enough charges to make your lives difficult, even if he can’t prove them. And there’s no way Ned’s past is spotless.”

“Yeah.” Barclay scratches the back of his neck, “guess I’ll only be seein you after hours?”

“You still want to see me?”

“Course I do. Even if you can’t work here, no reason you still can’t come see me when you’re _not_ working, right?”

“Right…” Joseph smirks, “you have a good eye for loopholes, handsome.” 

“Comes from living with Ned.” Barclay pats the bed and Joseph sits down, “I’m more worried about you, babe. I know you don’t wanna do this.”

“I don’t. I may very well bide my time until you all leave and then follow suit.”

“Only gonna be here about another week and a half, I think.”

“Where to next?” 

“Not sure. Indrid and Mama usually pick.”

“Once you know, maybe I could come, um, visit you?”

Barclay smiles sweetly and kisses him, “I’d like that a whole hell of a lot, Joe.”

He stands, offers Joseph a hand he doesn’t need but takes anyway, and links their arms. 

“I suppose we’ll uh, have to make the most of the time we still have.” 

Barclay stops before they reach the door, and pulls him into a long, loving kiss. 

“Guess we do. Now c’mon, handsome, time for you to get dressed up and whip me.”

\--------------------------

It’s officially the last time they’ll have Barclay on display as the man-ape, and Joseph goes all in on his act, even as sweat finds new places to drip down his body. Barclay matches him, playing up his sophistication with perfect time, growling or lunging at Joseph or the crowd when the jokes don’t seem to grab their interest. 

It’s their last crowd of the day, Ned having already shut up the front of the tent, and Joseph is towards the end of his spiel when the whip accidentally connects with Barclay’s upper back.

Barclay growls, looking over his shoulder at Joseph. Mouths, “again” before turning back to the crowd with a huff

“You see my friends, he is but one moment away from pure bloodlust!” The whip connects with more force this time (that is to say, Joseph actually directs at him rather than into the air). Barclay winces, growls, crosses his legs as he sips his tea. 

“You’re fooling no one, beast!” Another hit, and the growl sounds different this time. Hungrier. 

“You see, dear visitors, how dangerous, how truly fearsome he can be!” This hit makes noise when it connects, and he winces, afraid he might have actually hurt his boyfriend.

A snarl as the teacup shatters on the ground, Barclay yanking him off the floor by his lapels. But instead of baring his teeth in his face, the way he has before, Barclay offers a toothy smile. 

Then his teeth are in Joseph’s throat, just above his collar, the pain so deliciously sharp he cries out. There a shrieks of alarm from the crowd, and Joseph realizes it would be unwise to go limp, pliant, and moaning in front of guests. 

He kicks his right foot at Barcay’s leg, makes a show of trying to pry his fingers lose. The other man growls louder, sucking a bruise into his skin and refusing to release him. 

“F-flee! Flee before he comes for youAH!” Teeth again, not breaking the skin but making it quite clear they could. 

The crowd hurris through into the next room, where Ned is waiting to soothe their nerves with baby jackalopes and Crytponomica souvenirs.

Barclay waits until the room is empty to set him down, and only stops growling when Ned does closes the flaps to the room. 

Joseph fights to get his breathing under order as Barclay kisses his cheek.

The growling starts again.

“Think you can play rough and get off scot free, pretty boy?”

“No.” Joseph fixes his collar, “but the roughness was your ideaAHahhh.” He slaps his hand over his mouth as Barclay attacks the other side of his neck. His feet stay on the ground this time, letting him see just how quickly his knees weaken.

“I, I thought you said you didn’t bite.” He teases. 

Barclay releases his skin, licks along the bruise, “I don’t, unless someone asks for it.”

Coarse fur tickles his throat. A thought strikes him like a tent peg to the skull; Barclay’s costume is doing nothing to detract from how badly he wants this. In fact, it heightens it. 

“I wasn’t asking for anything.” He lets command creep back into his tone, “I’m your keeper, I decide what kind of treatment you get.”

Barclay straightens, clasping Josephs chin in his hand so he can stare him down, “Careful, pretty boy. Or you’re gonna find out exactly what happens when I break outta this enclosure.”

Joseph surges the few inches up to kiss him, gripping the front of his vest like it’s the edge of a cliff. A softer growl buzzes on his lips before Barclay melts into the kiss, one hand cradling his face and the other mapping his body. 

“Do, do we have enough time to, ahem, take a break in your trailer?” Joseph kisses slowly along his lower lip. 

“Doubt it. Pick this up after we’re done cooking?”

“You’re sure the intensity won't be gone?”

Barclay smirks, “trust me Joe, I can go all night.”

\----------------------------------------------------

Barclay is not going to make it until the end of the night. 

He smiles at customers, slings sodas and popcorn while Joe diligently churns out cotton candy. All the while, he daydreams of letting Joseph light up his arms or back or thighs with stinging slaps until he’s a growling mess of pent up energy, and then fucking the other man until one or both of them passes out. 

Joe only feeds the fantasies, to the point it’s a miracle they’re not both noticeably hard. The shorter man grazes his lower back with his nails when they brush by one another, lightly smacks his ass or thighs when no one is around to see. He also feels at the bruises on his neck with a secretive smile that intensifies if he catches Barclay staring.

For his part, Barclay growls low in his ear if he reaches past him for something, savoring the way he shivers at the sound. He wishes he was in his Sylph form again; Joe would probably go to pieces if he used his claws to tease him. 

When they finally shutter the stand, Joe calmly offers his hand as they walk back to Barclay’s trailer, and Barclay takes it without hesitation.

“That one fellow came back for cotton candy about six times. Maybe he’s related to Indrid.” 

“Heh” he switches from holding hands to draping his arm around Joe’s shoulder, “ you haven’t even seen the worst of it. I did shave ice at one stop, think it was near Denver, and Indrid downed the entire bottle of strawberry syrup before I could stop him.”

“Yeech.” Joe makes a face of amused disgust, “how does he not caramelize in the sun? His blood must be mostly sugar at this point.”

“No idea. As long as he steers clear of my supplies, I’m happy to give him all the cotton candy his weird little heart can handle. After you.” He pushes the door open and doesn’t so much as escort as gently shove Joe inside.

When the lock clicks, they look at each other, Joe’s blue eyes calculating and intrigued. Then he holds up a hand, rests it on Barclays chest. 

“Is continuing what we were doing in the tent really okay? I, um, I remember you said you often like letting others take charge, and I don’t think that’s where this is headed.”

Barclay takes his hand, “Yep, I’m real happy with where it’s headed, long as you’re excited about it too. Guess we both got a thing for pain, huh?”

Joe relaxes a bit, rests his head on Barclay’s shoulder, “I am and yes, we do. I’m sorry, that was a bit of a mood killer, wasn’t it?”

“Not in the least, babe. Let’s me know I can do this without worrying.” With that he spins them in a quarter turn, his back resting against the small span of wall by the door. Places a hand on either of Joe’s shoulders, and shoves him down. 

“Get my cock out and get me hard, pretty boy.”

Deft fingers undo his fly, tugging his pants open and dragging them and his underwear down to his thighs. Joe diligently sets to work, licking stripes up the shaft. His hand follows the path of his tongue, stroking at an even tempo until Barclay’s hard and pre-cum beads at the head. 

“Is this the worst you're going to do, big guy? Make me tend to a cock that’s more of a beast than all your other parts combined?” Joe grins, sticks his tongue out to lap at the underside of his cockhead. 

“The night is young, babe. Got all sorts of plans for you.” Tentatively, Barclay rests his hand on the back of Joe’s neck and nudges his head forward. 

That cupids bow of a mouth parts, takes the first few inches of his cock in slowly. Joe’s eyes flutter shut, and he moans. His head doesn’t bob the way Barclay is used to; instead he concentrates on pressure, head shifting ever-so-slightly this way and that as he focuses on using his tongue to seek out every spot that takes Barclay’s breath away. His left hand rests on Barclay’s hip, his right works in time with his mouth and his breath. When he inhales, it strokes up with a twist. With exhales, it makes a measure drag backwards. 

It’s so very like Joe to be methodical even in this, to turn that same eye towards precision and care he shows during work onto a partner. Barclay wants to pull Joe close, tell him a thousand times how lucky he feels to be that partner.

What his mouth supplies instead is, “holy fuck that’s good.”

Joe laughs, smug, and pulls back, “I’m glad. I’m, um, a bit out of practice.” He drags his lips along the side in a kiss, and Barclay shuts his eyes with a sigh.

The skin on his right thigh lights up with a welcome burst of pain where Joe slaps it.

“Then again, you should be grateful regardless of my skill. Or have you forgotten that I’m your keeper? I decide what you get and when.” Another smack, just as delicious as the first. 

“That so?” Barclay manages through grit teeth; he needs his control to hold just a bit longer, he wants to pounce right when Joe is feeling high and mighty. 

“Yes” a third slap, this time with Joe’s right hand to his left thigh, “you need me to keep your base desires in check, you greedy” another slap, “greedy” another, “beast.”

His growl escapes his through his teeth, filling up the trailer. Joe notices, goes pinker than a ripening peach. 

“Growl all you want, I’m not scared of you.” He slaps each thigh in quick succession.

Barclay grabs his wrists before his hands can retreat, and holds them up, “Good.” 

Joe gazes up into his eyes, face painted with lust.

Barclay bends forward, nipping at his trapped hands as he says, “I don’t wanna scare you babe. I wanna ruin you. I wanna make you scream and cum, wanna cum in you until I’m empty and you’re in heaven. I wanna show you just how much of a beast I can be.”

“ _Yes_.” Those blue eyes are practically all pupil, Joe’s pulse fluttering against Barclay’s palms

“Open your mouth.”

A dark eyebrow arches in challenge.

“Now.” It’s barely even a word, the growl is coming out in it’s true form, deep and dangerous. 

Joe licks the head of his cock, but does nothing else. He snarls, transfers both Joe’s wrists to his left hand and digs his right into the carefully combed strands. When he shoves Joe as far down his cock as he dares, the wrists twist as the man on his knees moans. 

“That’s better. That’s, fuck, that’s so good, fuck, take it pretty boy, take it, wanna see tears all down that handsome face.” He yanks Joe back and forth by the hair, keeps his hands trapped in the air above his head. 

“See how, fuck, how easy it is for me to do this? Think of every, shit, everything else I can do to you. For you.” He watches Joe’s face intently. In part because he loves watching the way his lips stretch to take his cock, the joy that flashes across his face when Barclay pushes as deep as can (he’d kill to see Joe take him all the way down, but that’s for a time when they can build-up, go slow). But he’s also keenly aware of his own strength, of how being a Sylph means he could overpower Joe in the wrong kind of way and hurt him. So he scans his face for signs this is too much, keeps his hold on his wrists loose enough that Joe can escape if he needs to. 

His cock hits the back of Joe’s throat, and a gag overlaps with the steady moans. Barclay yanks his head back, Joe pulling off with a gasp.

“That too much?”

“No, no, it, little pain, liked it, please Barclay” Joe is straining forward, short hairs coming loose in Barclay’s hand.

“Snap twice if it stops being nice?” 

“Yes, yesmphm.” Joe whines when he lets him swallow his cock again. It only takes a few thrusts before his jaw goes slack, Barclay fucking his face to a symphony of wet moans and gags that are always followed by shuddery sounds of pleasure. 

As the wrists in his sweating palm go limp, he chuckles, “Such a sight, my handsome keeper on his knees, giving up all that control to me. Hard just from gagging on my cock, a mess just from some face fucking. You think _this_ is rough babe?”

Joe nods as best he can with a cock violently pushing between his lips

“You have no fucking idea what rough is. But I'm gonna, fuck, show you, gonna show you how good it can be to be a beast, fuck, oh fuck, Joe, babe, fuck, shit, c’mon pretty boy make me come, coat you so everyone knows you’re mine, nnn _shit_.” He forces Joe to pull off, coming across his face and down his neck, droplets streaking his lips and his (closed, thank god) eyes. 

Barclay drops to his knees, bringing Joe’s arms down with him and letting them go. Joe wipes his eyes, opens them and blinks, taking in the state of them both. His hair is mussed, cum and spit are smeared on his face and he reeks of arousal (a perk, and sometimes curse, of Sylph biology is being able to smell such things).

Barclay would gladly rough him up more, tear his clothes to shreds and cover him in lovebites. And, just as gladly, he would gather him into his arms, and hold him all night long, pressing kisses anywhere he desired. 

“See, this is why you need me, to tame those,uh,” Joe draws a finger teasingly up Barclay’s chest, “animalistic urges.”

Rough it is, then.

He buttons his pants up in a hurry, and scoops Joe off the ground and onto the bed. As he clambers on top of him, Joe hesitates. 

“Um, didn’t you say this bed isn’t built for this?”

“Uhhhhhhh” he had Indrid enchant it for durability early this morning, “as long as we’re not full on fucking I think we’ll be okay.”

“In that case” Joe purrs, “it seems like you have something you want to show me.”

“Yep. See, here’s the thing, babe” he tugs off Joe’s shoes and throws them towards the door, gives his pants and underwear the same treatment, nearly slavering at the sight of his cock, “you make it out like I’m the one running around wanting to fuck every two minutes. Which is funny, given that all I gotta do is growl or bite your neck, or be extra sweet to you and start showing off that nice ass like you’re hoping I'll fuck you.”

“I don’t have a clue what you mean.” Joe unbuttons his shirt primly and sets it on the floor.

Barclay thumbs the head of his cock without warning, and he flops backwards with a yelp. 

He chuckles, “wanna try that again?” And removes his shirt while Joe fumbles for an answer. 

“I, I, am a paragon of control. A, oh lord, a, model citizen.” His hips rock side to side as Barclay lazily strokes him.

“Uh huh, sure, model citizen who likes the idea of the big scary monster fucking him into the sawdust where anyone could see and leaving bite marks so everyone will know.”

“Don’t’, don’t be ridiculous” Joe grins, eyes shut tight, “I’m from one of the best families in the city, I would never want such a thing.”

Barclay remembers the glimpse he got of Joe’s father, the way he talks about home, and he understands; he’s parroting. He’s saying what he knows he ought to, and he wants Barclay to make him tell the truth. 

“If that’s how you feel” he stops moving his hand, “I can stop.”

“Don’t, please don’t.” Joe thrusts up. Barclay loosens his hold, denying him any chance of friction.

“Wouldn’t want to sully your good name.”

“Fuck my good name.” He tosses his forearm over his eyes in frustration. 

“But just think” Barclay says breezily, still refusing to move, “what would happen if people knew, babe? It'll ruin you.”

A rasping gasp, “Ruin me, please, please Barclay, that’s what I want, can’t you see, I spent a whole month hoping you would-”

“I would what? Corner you, ravish you? Make it easy for you to pretend you got swept away, so you wouldn’t have to admit what you wanted? _Who_ you wanted?” The last words come out in a growl as the realization hits him, the shift from teasing dirty words to a possible truth feeling like a missed stair in a dark hall. He settles both hands on the bed, bracketing Joe’s shoulders, bracing himself for the reply. 

“What, yes, but never who. I could never, never deny I wanted you, all of you, sweet and gentle or playing rough, Barclay, please.” Joe won’t uncover his eyes, keeps twitching his hips, “I knew I wanted you from the moment I saw you, wanted you more and more each second we were together, want you so much now it’s like there’s an endless wellspring of it inside me, all for you.” Joe’s lip is starting to quiver.

“Look at me.” Barclay rumbles. 

Joe lowers his arm, eyes wet behind it, “I adore you. I tried so many times to show it, even though I was afraid I didn’t deserve your affection. And lord knows I was far from subtle.”

Barclay thinks back on the last month. Many moments, god there were so many he’s lost count, where Joe seemed about to kiss him. Or when he’d thought he might break and draw Joe into his arms.

“Yeah, I guess you were.” He smiles, and when Joe returns the expression it’s brighter than every star combined. Barclay kisses him, murmurs, “think I get it now. ”

“Oh, oh good. I have many neuroses around my desires, but none about you as person. Do, should we, I’ve dusted the mood entirely haven’t I?” Joe giggles, embarrassed, hides his face in Barclays arm. 

“Tell me what you want, Joseph.”

The smaller man’s gaze flicks away.

“Look at me while you do.”

Joe breathes deep and stares him down, licking his lips, “I want you to ruin me. In whatever way you think best.”

Barclay rolls onto his elbow, so he can work Joe’s cock while biting along his chest and neck. Each time he leaves a bruise, he licks over it, doing his best not to lap and nose and him senselessly; no point in revealing anymore clues to his true nature. Joe moans his name, thrashes with delighted cries at the bites, whimpers at the tender treatment after.

“You can have whatever you want from me, Joe. All you gotta do is ask, promise I’ll be so good to you.”

“You are, good lord, you’re so good.” It comes out in a whine, broken and desperate, as he pumps Joe’s cock firmly. The praise makes him rumble out a purr, too swept up to bother hiding that not-human sound. 

“Thaaat’s it babe, c’mon, let go for me, I’m right here, I’ve got you if you do.”

“I’m close, Barclay, please don’t stop.”

“Not a fucking chance” he bites the skin over Joe’s heart, “goddamn, oughta see yourself pretty boy, got tears and cum all over you, marked you so good you’ll be bruised for weeks, fuck, how can you be such a ruined mess and still look so damn perfect?”

Joe comes with a keening gasp, come spattering his stomach, hips, and Barclay’s hand.

He’s never had much interest in tasting spend, but he licks his fingers as Joe comes down from his climax, the urge to savor every last bit of this moment overwhelming him. 

“That was, um, well, uh-” Joe rolls over to face him, “more…revealing than I intended.”

“Is that a good thing?” Barclay runs his hand along his upper arm.

Joe thinks for a moment, then smiles, “You know, I think it is. I’m not sure I’ve ever said some of those things aloud. It felt good, especially saying them to you.” He nestles closer, “I feel so safe with you, Barclay. Like I don’t have to hide anything.”

“Glad to hear it” he pets the strands of hair back from Joe’s face, “I feel the same way, Joe. I haven’t met someone who made me feel like this in a long time.”

(He wishes he could say he didn’t have to hide anything).

Joe kisses his neck, “And all that calling you a beast, that, that was alright?”

“Coming from you, yeah. Actually, it was red smoking hot. Because I know you’re not afraid of me. I know, with the way I’m, uh, built, that I can be intimidating, even when I try not to. Kinda fun to play that up with someone I trust. Someone I know cares about the whole of who I am.”

Joe kisses his lips, then his nose, sighing happily. 

He wonders, not for the first time, what would happen if the other man knew the truth. Knew that his “man-ape” get up wasn’t a costume, but the form he was born into. After all, Dani and Indrid have human partners who love them in both forms (even Jake has a sweetheart who writes him from their travels). Why can’t he?

The answer comes unbidden and painful as splinter; Joe is an outsider. Admitting the truth would put Barclay, his family, and maybe even Joe himself in danger. 

So Barclay will keep his secret. It’s more than enough to have Joe care about him this way, want him this way. 

“Are you okay?” Joe asks softly, hand running along Barclay’s chest and side.

Barclay takes him in, this disheveled, bright-eyed, sometimes anxious and always eager to learn man who, for reasons that still sometimes escape him, has chosen to let Barclay in closer than anyone else has ever gotten. 

He grins, kisses Joe languidly before responding, “Okay doesn’t even begin to describe how good I am. Partner.”


	10. Catching Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joseph researches. Indrid plans. Barclay packs.

“My visions have narrowed the gate’s next appearance down to a one mile radius of here.” Indrid rests his finger on the map, one cross-marked and inked in from their journeys, “just south of Seattle.”

“What time frame we lookin at?” Mama cleans her shotgun as Barclay finishes changing the bandage on her head. It’s early Saturday morning, and he’s sent Joseph on an errand to give them all time to plan without the risk of being overheard. 

“About five weeks, certainly no fewer than four.”

“Could ask for worse spots for it to turn up; Leo and Minerva are still in Seattle with their act. Usually stay workin the pier until fall.” Duck leans against Indrid while Ned traces a finger along the roadways. 

“If you think they’ll help, we could sure as hell use it. I swear these things are gettin stronger and meaner every time they come through. What’re you thinkin route-wise, Ned?”

“In my professional opinion, either of these two roads would suffice. I suggest staying away from the coastal roads, they will be harder to traverse with our array of vehicles.”

“You still want to do one more week of the show?” Aubrey looks up from where she’s combing out Dr. Harris Bonker’s fur, sending tufts of white fuzz swirling through the tent.

“I’d rather get moving sooner, but with this gash on my head I’m still a little unsteady, and Barclay’s liable to strongarm me if he thinks I’m pushin myself.” She elbows him, “unless you feel up to healin it, Aubrey.”

“Nope. Unless it’s a literal life or death situation, I don’t like doing stuff around the head. Too much fragile gunk in there that could be damaged, even by a careful spell.”

Ned claps his hands together, “Then it’s decided; one more week, and Amnesty heads north.”

\------------------------------------------------

Joseph reads over the list Barclay gave him, wanting to be double-sure he got everything. It’s a simple grocery run, but at this point he wants even simple things to be perfect. Barclay deserves it.

The fog is coming in, and he shudders, wishing he’d brought his jacket. You’d think living here his whole life would prepare him for chilly summer days, but no. 

His parent’s home isn’t far from here, and they’re often out on Saturdays. He takes his chances, finds the house empty. 

As he’s heading back down the stairs, he notices the paper on the kitchen table and stops to read. There’s nothing terribly eye-catching until the bottom of the page. 

_Case of Missing Reno Family Closed_

_Reno, Nevada, July 10th._

_Washoe County police formally closed the case of Parson family, who disappeared in the foothills by Rose Peak back in March. Eric Parsons, age 43, his wife Linda, age 40, and their son Terrance, age 12, were reported by Lisa Parsons, the family's eldest daughter. Other than Mr. Parsons torn coat and left shoe. Given that there have been leads, and that no bodies have been found, the police have opted to end the investigation._

Reno?

Barclay mentioned they’d been in Reno sometime during the spring, as he was joking about how many layers Indrid wears in cold weather. 

It must be a coincidence. Except….

Except Barclay mentioned La Jolla too, and Tulsa. Both of which are places he knows there have been similar cases of people mysteriously disappearing, only to never be seen again (or to be seen in pieces when they are). 

He sets the grocery bags down and heads upstairs. Pulls a shoe-box from under his bed, full of newspaper clippings about unexplained phenomena. Not only does he find the reports from Tulsa and La Jolla, but ones from Fort Worth and Denver as well. All places Amnesty has been in the last few years. 

It could still be a coincidence; those are all large cities, and cities it makes sense of a circus to stop in. Besides, how would he even know if Amnesty was even in town at the same time as the disappearances?

The question nags at him as he slides the box back under the bed, grabs his groceries, and turns towards the circus.

He moves like an automaton until a baritone voice rumbles in his ear, “Must be one hell of a daydream.”

“Ah!” He drops the lid of the icebox shut with a thud.

Barclay smiles, boxing him in against the case, as he nuzzles his cheek, “Called your name like three times, trying to get your attention.”

“Sorry, got caught up in my thoughts. I got everything on the list.”

A soft, coffee-flavored kiss, “Thanks, handsome. Saved you some drop scones from breakfast. Thought we could, uh” he kisses him again, “enjoy them in private.”

Joseph snorts, “only you would find pastries erotic.”

Barclay laughs, “meant you could eat them first, then I could suck your cock, pretty boy.”

He leans against that broad frame, smelling familiar soap and feeling safer than he has in decades. 

Barclay is a good man, kind and gentle. Not the kind of person to kidnap innocent travelers or make whole families disappear. 

His anxiety about the coming week, losing his lover to the open road and finding himself stuck in a job he does not want, is tainting the rest of his life. That has to be the source of his suspicions. The people are Amnesty are his friends, outsiders who’ve made a life for themselves and who look after each other. 

They’re not hiding anything.

They’re not monsters. 

His conviction only grows as the day goes on. Aubrey calls him over to show off a new trick, Dani’s head resting on her wife’s shoulder as she beams with pride. Ned chats amicably as he and Barclay clean up the Cryptonomica, and Duck asks him for help putting Winnie through her exercises. 

They eat an early dinner in the staging tent, Barclay leaving his side only to help Mama change the bandage on her head (“goddamn stage weight fell while I was walkin under it. Lucky I only came away with this”).

“Joseph, hope you know we’re gonna give you one hell of a send off when you gotta leave us.” She smiles at him, adjusting her hair around the clean bandage. 

“Oh, that’s really not-”

“It is quite necessary.” Indrid adds, “You have been invaluable in our time here, and a good friend besides. Well, more than a friend to one of us.” He grins at Barclay, who simply looks proud.

“Thank you.” Joseph saves the rest of what he wants to say for later. He doesn’t want to ruin this moment of peace and camaraderie by talking too much. Lord knows he’s done that before. 

As he leaves for the evening, intending to spend the night at home to appease his father (in spite of Barclay making a strong argument with his hands and mouth as to why he should spend the night with him), he pauses outside Mama’s trailer. The door is open, Mama having stepped out to ask Indrid something before he disappeared into Duck’s trailer. On her small desk, he knows there a ledger that will tell him where Amnesty has been and when. 

He swipes it, feeling only a little guilty. He’ll bring it back first thing in the morning, and it will set his mind at ease. Not to mention, if anyone else on the force notices the same pattern, he’ll be prepared to defend his friends with the power of knowledge.

It’s only when he’s home, ledger open on the bed and newspaper clippings spread out before him, that he understands the true weight of the situation. 

The dates match perfectly. Tulsa, Fort Worth, Reno, La Jolla, and two more cities besides, including Kepler. He reads the reports over and over, tripled checks the dates in ledger, and finds the same information every time. 

It can’t be true. 

But it can’t be a coincidence either. 

He needs to sleep on it, think about the problem in the cold light of day rather than moonlit night, when it’s easy to imagine malevolent shapes in the shadows. 

Tomorrow. He’ll deal with it tomorrow. 

\-------------------------------------------------------

In Duck Newton’s trailer, Indrid stares down at the future he’s etched into paper, and bites hip with a frown. 

“Duck?”

“Whaaza?” His boyfriend blinks blearily at him from under the covers. 

“We need to leave. All of us. Tonight.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------

Barclay knows better than to argue with an agitated Indrid. 

But goddamn does he wish this could have waited until tomorrow night, or even later in the day today. He wants a chance to say goodbye, to tell Joe how much he’ll miss him, to promise he’ll write to him, to tell him that he’ll probably think about him until the day he dies. 

Duck, to his credit, had lobbied on Barclay’s behalf, pointing out that he could stay behind for his final goodbye and catch up with them easily. But Indrid was adamant that they all pack up and move out as soon as was humanly possible. 

As he’s loading the last of the concession supplies into a truck, Joe’s voice hisses at him from the fading shadows. 

“Barclay! Come here, quick.”

“Joe? What the fuck, it’s like four in the morning, what are you doing here?” He’s relieved, ready to pull his boyfriend in for the kiss of his life, when he spots the frightened expression coating his face. 

“Barclay, it’s, it’s not safe for you here. The circus, it’s a cover for something else, something sinister, I’m certain of it.”

“What?” His voice climbs a half-octave, “where is this coming from?”

Joe holds out the Sunday paper, pointing to the bottom of the page.

_Body of Missing Broker Found Under Wharf_

“That’s awful, but I don’t see-”

“This isn’t the only time something like this has happened when Amnesty was in town. I counted six cities last night, and this makes seven. And that’s only the ones where the disappearances or strange deaths were reported. There could be dozens more we don’t know about.” Joe glances over his shoulder, then over Barclay’s, “Please, I know it sounds like a stretch, but it’s too much of a pattern to ignore. Especially when you add in the Plata Bridge incident.” 

“Joe” Barclay cups his face, keeps his voice gentle, “I believe there is a pattern. I just don’t think it means what you think it means. I’ve been with Amnesty from the beginning; it’s like my family. Hell, you know everyone here. Whatever’s going on with these disappearances, no one here is causing them.”

“Barclay, I know it might be hard to accept, but there _is_ something going on here. The strange injuries people give flimsy reasons for, the fact that Indrid and Ned clearly have things they’re running from. Please” he rests his hand atop Barclay’s, “please believe me. And please, come with me, get away from whatever dangerous thing is lurking here. I can’t bear the thought of you being hurt, or caught up in the mess when it’s eventually all found out.”

He wants to say yes. He wants to tell the truth. He wants to hold Joe in his arms and tell him everything will be just fine, that there’s nothing he’s hiding, that Amnesty is what it seems. 

“I can’t do that, Joseph. I can’t abandon everyone, no matter how dangerous things get.”

Joe meets his eyes, and he watches the heart break cross his face inch by inch. His gaze hardening, and he pushes his hand off his face. 

“People are disappearing and dying, Barclay. I can’t ignore that, or the fact Amnesty is always around when it happens. I care about everyone here, you most of all. But I can’t turn a blind eye towards what’s going on. And I can’t, in good conscious, let it continue if I have information that might stop it. I'm on my way to alert the police now.”

His heart plummets, “That’s it? You’re just going to sic your dad and his cronies on us for something you can’t even prove?”

“I _can_ prove it” Joe stares him down, as if daring him to suggest otherwise, “for starters, Duck is the worst liar I’ve ever met. Between that, the circumstantial evidence, the fact that you all appear to be _running away_ the day this news broke, and further investigation, I have no doubt I can figure out the truth. Do you?”

Barclay shakes his head, fights back the few tears threatening to break loose, “No, I don’t. Joe, please reconsider, for my sake.”

Joseph turns away, head still held high, “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Barclay steps behind him, considers resting a hand on his shoulder, “I am too.”

He brings his fist down on Joe’s head, and the shorter man hits the ground like a sack of hammers. Kneels down and checks his pulse, not breathing until he feels it beating steadily beneath his thumb.

“Why couldn’t you have just let it be, Joe?” He stands, fingers worrying the bracelet on his left wrist. 

“He always did have the look of a man who couldn’t leave well enough alone.” Mama steps around the truck, stopping beside him and patting his shoulder, “I heard about half of all that. I’m sorry, pal of mine. Think you did the best you could.”

“Doesn’t fucking feel like it. Gonna go out on a limb and say you’ve got the same thought I do.” He watches the sawdust, kicked up when he fell, floating down into Joe’s hair.

Mama nods with tired understanding, squeezes his shoulder one more time.

The she turns and calls, “Ned, we’re gonna need that real big steamer trunk of yours! Turns out we got an unexpected cargo comin with us!.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be taking a short break on this story, both to plan out the end and to finish a few other requests.


	11. Disappearing Act

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stern wakes up. Barclay keeps watch. Mama makes a choice.

He feels the rumble before any of his other senses return. Next comes the steady clack and roar of a train on it’s tracks.

Joe opens his eyes. 

The chipped paint of a wall greets him, and he looks down to see two, equally ominous realities: he’s laying on a small cot, and his arms are tied in front of him. 

He rolls over cautiously. The train cabin is dark, the dusk sky zipping by through the window. 

Well, if he’s on a train, there will be other passengers. And those other passengers can probably help him. 

He stands, or tries to, only to collapse onto the floor thanks to his bound feet.

“Shit, you okay?” A familiar rumble comes from cot opposite him. As Barclay kneels to help him, Joe backs into his bedframe. 

“Stay, stay back.” 

Barclay does as he asks, merely says, “do you want me to untie your legs?”

Joe scrunches forward, managing to yank the ropes off himself as he spits, “I want you to tell me where I am, what in god’s name hit me, and what the hell is going on!”

A sigh as Barclay stands and turns on the light, the car managing to look grimmer when illuminated. 

“We’re on a train heading North. Amnesty has business up there. And, um,” he stares at the ground, “I hit you. That’s why you’re a bit, uh, disoriented.”

Somehow, of all the discoveries he’s made in the last day (god he hopes he’s only been out a day), that’s the worst. 

He climbs awkwardly onto the bed, staring Barclay down with a look he hopes is steely rather than wounded, “Just like that? Everything that passed between us, and you fucking knocked me out and, and what, stuffed me into a steamer trunk?”

“Yeah.” Barclay sheepishly inclines his head towards the nets holding a small suitcase and a massive trunk.

No wonder his neck and back feel like they've been through a laundry press.

“It was the last thing I wanted to do, Joe, believe me.” Barclay sits down on the opposite bed, facing him, “But you put all of us in danger when you threatened to tell your father what you found out. I didn’t have a choice.”

“I doubt that.” 

“You wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t wait! I knew if I let you go you wouldn’t waste any time getting the whole force down there.” 

“And why wouldn't I? People are dying!”

“I _know_.” The last word is a growl, “And I also know that all of us landing in jail would mean even more deaths.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why the fuck would I tell you? You made it clear that you were ready to believe the worst of people who you considered friends, believe the worst of me."

“I never believed the worst of you.” 

Barclay lifts an eyebrow, “You thought I was empty-headed enough to not know if people I’ve been with for years were making innocent folks disappear. And that the people I love most are murderers. Not exactly holding me in high esteem, pretty boy.”

“Don’t call me that.” He glances around the car, missing the nickname already, “And if you’re not engaged in criminal activity, what secret was so dark that you couldn’t risk my interference? Kidnapping does not exactly suggest innocence.”

Broad shoulders deflate, “I know, I know. Look, Joe, there are things going on that are bigger than either of us. Things that put so much at stake, that are so hard to explain without giving away some huge secrets. And it’s a ridiculous thing to ask you right now, but I need you to trust me that there's a reason for all this."

“You’re right; that’s a ridiculous request.”

A bitter chuckle, “Yeah, that’s kinda what I thought you’d say. Even if you don’t trust me, you’re kinda stuck with me. And” he sends a pointed look Stern’s way, “I know you’re a savvy guy Joe, but for my sake please don’t get it into your head to try and escape. You try the door or the window, I’ll tie you to the cot. Make a racket, I have to gag you. Just...promise me you won’t try anything? I already feel like a heel for knocking you out.”

Joe makes sure Barclay sees him thinking about the statement, as if he hasn’t made up his mind to get out of this train cabin as soon as he can. 

“Fine. But you’ll excuse me if I don’t have that much sympathy for you right now. Talk to me again when my skull stops being bruised.” He swings his legs up on the bed and rolls over, back to the other man. 

There’s nothing but the din of the train and the tracks, and then, “Joe? I really am sorry. About everything.”

He scowls over his shoulder, “It would be easier to accept that apology if I weren’t functionally your prisoner."

Then he slams his head down on the pillow and does his best to feign sleep. 

\----------------------------------------------

Barclay stares at Joe’s back, watching as the rise and fall evens out.

This should be the easy part, being on the train. 

The day has been a scramble of plans and schemes, all of them trying to outmaneuver the future. It began with Indrid, the most memorable of them, buying four tickets for the train to Carson City. Then Ned, in a disguise, buying three for Seattle, and getting himself, Mama, Barclay, and their luggage on the train. 

They sent the rest of the circus north on two routes, Indrid and Duck taking one while Aubrey, Dani, and Jake took the other, Ned pointing out that if they did get followed, Hayes and his men would have a much harder time tracking all three groups. 

Then it was a flurry of deciding what to jettison, what could fit in each of the trucks and the two trailers they were able to tow (Indrid’s and Dani’s were the winners, as they each could house two people). 

Worst of all was the agony of, once the conductor was safely placated with his ticket, pulling an unconscious Joe from the trunk. Then waiting, and waiting, and waiting for the other man to stir, knowing he would be furious no matter what Barclay said. 

He expected it would be easier once the initial anger was gone, once he'd had a chance to calm him down. Yet now, with Joe laying a mere few feet away, he understands his miscalculation. His muscle memory and his heart both tell him to join his former partner on the bed. To pull him into a hug, promise him everything will work out and make sense. 

Not sit here like a goddamn prison guard, making sure Joe do something they’ll both regret. 

Like what he’s doing right now.

“I see that, Joe.” He sighs. 

The slight shifts of Stern’s shoulders cease, as does the scuff of skin trying to work off the rope.

Barclay is not looking forward to a whole night of this, especially since he’s bone-tired and wants to sleep. He can’t risk dropping off only for Joe to get loose. 

He stands, crossing to the other bed and laying down on his side. Joe doesn’t so much as breathe, until Barclay drapes an arm over his middle. 

“Barclay, if you try anything I swear-”

“Look, I need to sleep. You need to stay here. I don’t want to tie you down more, and I doubt you wanna sleep trussed like a fucking Turkey. So I’m gonna sleep here, like this, so I can feel if you try to make a run for it.”

“....Fine. Just….fine.” Joe grumbles, both of them trying to find a way to avoid more contact than necessary. 

They give up at the same time, Joe relaxing fully so his back is pressed to Barclay’s chest and Barclay resting his chin on top of Joe’s head. 

He falls asleep to the rhythm of the train and the rise and fall of Stern’s breath. Doesn’t awaken until just before dawn, when Stern rolls over in his arms.

“S’early?” 

“Yeah. Gotta be around four.” He whispers back.

“Surprised you” Joseph yawns, nestles closer, “aren’t off starting breakfast.”

Barclay stops himself from petting that dark hair and, torn between respecting Joe enough to remind him of reality and desperately wanting to prolong his sleep-addled sweetness and unawareness, replies, “No need to today.”

Blue eyes open, and Joe smiles at him.

Then a knee connects with his chest, Joe using the small space to throw his back against the wall and kick a startled Barclay onto the floor. 

Joe tries to vault over him, hands still tied, but Barclay has been knocked down by far worse and is already moving. It’s a graceless tackle that brings Joe to the floor with him. 

“That was a, ow, fucking dirty trick youOW!” Joe gets an elbow in his jaw and he snarls from the pain. 

“Now you know how I felt yesterday morning; loved one moment, then _bam_.” He wiggles out of Barclay’s grip, takes advantage of their new positions to kick him twice, hard, in the ribs.

On the third kick, Barclay catches his foot, “Why couldn’t you just leave well enough _alone_.” He flips Joe onto his stomach via his legs, the other man hissing in pain. 

“So I, owgod, panicked a little, can you blame me?”

“Yes!”

“I thought you were in danger. I thought my friends were murderers. The whole world went a bit scattered when I found that Sunday paper, and my body and mouth got ahead of my brain. But panic on my end doesn’t excuse a felony on yours!” Joe twists, trying to catch Barclay in the nose with his bound fists, but Barclay easily slams him back down onto the ground, pinning him.

“Will you fucking cool it so we can talk about this?”

Joe struggles beneath him, but Barclay knows it’s pointless; he has all his Sylph strength to draw on, and he’s only using half of it. The dark haired man comes to the same conclusion, goes limp, breathing heavily. 

“Please just get it over with. If you ever actually cared about me, felt any affection for me, please kill me now instead of dragging this out for days.”

Barclay’s heart twists so violently he’s amazed his veins don’t snap. 

“We aren’t, I’d never-”

“I wish I could believe that, but it’s the obvious, logical conclusion.” Joe continues softly, “I’m a liability in that I already know too much. You won’t take me into confidence, and I can’t imagine you all want to spend the rest of my natural life carting me around and hiding me in trunks. Ergo, you’re going to kill me some time soon.”

Barclay climbs off him, hurriedly helping him to his knees and cupping his face, “No, never, Joe, we’d never do that.”

“You were already willing to injure me to keep me from leaving.”

“Because then you really would be in danger of dying! I was just trying to keep you here, not hurt you.”

Joe holds up his scratched arms, deeply unconvinced, “Even if you don’t plan on killing me, what if the others do and haven’t told you.”

“They wouldn’t. I know they wouldn’t.” He takes a deep breath, wondering if he should continue, “And even if, somehow, someone got replaced by an evil double or otherwise got it into their head to try and kill you, I swear I wouldn’t let them.”

Joe snorts, turns away from him.

“I do, I, I swear on my life, on, um, the sun and stars, on, on anything you ask me to I’ll swear it.”

“I can’t think of anything that would make me believe you.”

Barclay crawls to his bag, digging into the hidden pocket and pulling out a shard of orange crystal. He’s never felt comfortable wearing it the way Indrid does, but he loves it all the same.

He lifts Joe’s hands, sets the stone into his palm and rests his own hand atop it, “I swear on this. It’s, it’s the only piece of my home I was able to take with me when I left. It's the most valuable thing I have.”

Joe studies his face, runs a thumb along the warm facets.

Then he nods, “Okay. But if you’re lying, I hope for your sake there isn’t an afterlife, because I will come back from it and haunt you until you go insane.”

He almost laughs at the matter-of-fact tone, then solemnly replies, “Deal.”

Joe gets slowly onto his bed, rolling over so his back is once again to Barclay. 

“I, uh, I got a few pulps with me, if you get antsy and need something to read.”

No response. 

“You hungry? I can flag down a porter or someone.”

“No, thank you.” 

He’s never heard Joe’s voice so devoid of life, and when the other man glances over his shoulder when Barclay moves to stare our the window, his normally sharp eyes are dull. 

He's accepted Barclay's promise. Be he still looks like a man condemned. 

\--------------------------------------

“You gotta let me tell him.” Barclay leans across the table in the near-empty dining car, Mama sipping her coffee before responding. 

“Tell ‘im what? Barclay, I know you care about Joe. I like the kid too. But if we tell him a little, you know he’s gonna have question after question, until he knows the kind of stuff that’d make him basically a Pine Guard member without actually helpin the cause.”

“Why couldn’t we ask him to join?”

“Because the whole damn reason he’s on this train with us is that he jumped to the wrong conclusion and nearly took as all in the fall with him. That's a hell of a standard to set.”

“I believe him that he panicked. You said yourself he’s sharp, so this was maybe a one off. I think if we told him the truth, he might even be able to help us out.”

Mama sighs, polishes off her coffee.

“He thinks we’re gonna kill him, Mama.”

She doesn’t look outwardly horrified, in fact any passerby would think her unmoved. But Barclay knows that change in her posture. 

“Fuck.”

“If we trust him with information, that’d help him understand that we really don't want him gone. Please, if not for his sake, for mine.”

She picks her hat up from the table, brushing it off carefully as she says, “I’m trustin you to only tell him the absolute minimum for now. And lefts hope this don't come back to bite you. For all our sakes."

Barclay relieves Ned of his post watching over the listless Joe. Looks between their beds, settles for kneeling beside Joe’s.

“Hey, partner. Uh, got some good news.”

“Peachy.” Joe murmurs. 

“So, I can tell you some of the truth for now. I know you’ll love to hear that you were right; those disappearances happening when we’re in towns aren’t a coincidence. But it’s because we’re there to hunt the things causing them.”

Interest returns to his voice, “which are?”

“Abominations. Creatures from another world that get into ours through a gate. They come through mad and hungry and if we don’t stop them fast, usually they pick off someone, maybe more if we really fuck up. Amnesty is a cover for that mission, it keeps us mobile, let’s us go where Indrid forsees the gate being, while making sure we can, like, eat. The thing that ate that broker is the reason Mama has that bandage on her head. So, that’s that.”

He’s been staring at his hand as it twists his bracelet, looks up to find Joeseph rolled to look at him. 

“It took you and Mama _that_ long to concoct that story?”

“It’s not a story! Fuck, you’re the one who wanted to know what was going on! I’d expect you, mister ‘I know the name of every monster form here to Boston’ to believe me! Hell, you’ve seen Aubrey’s powers, Indrid’s too. You really think those are still tricks, after being around us for that long?”

“No, but there’s a difference between clairvoyance or future sight, between creatures not yet known to science, and the concept of creatures coming through gates from what, another plane of reality?”

“Planet.” Barclay responds automatically. 

“Equally absurd. That stretches the bounds of all known laws of the universe, posits things that science has yet to even fathom, and somehow it’s only know to your small circus? Please Barclay, I thought you knew better than to mistake my curiosity for gullibility.”

“If you won’t listen, I’m out of ideas. Fuck, you are impossible sometimes.”

“Here’s an idea: leave me the hell alone until we get to our destination, then tell me the truth. Either that or throw me from the train at your earliest convenience, _partner_.”

With that, he rolls over, and doesn’t say another word for the rest of the night, even when Barclay once again takes up his spot beside him on the bed. 

In the bottom of Barclay’s suitcase, unbeknownst to them both, coils the proof Joe is looking for. Growing, and waiting for it’s chance to strike.


	12. Searching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duck goes for a swim. Aubrey has a dream. Hayes makes a deal.

_“He’s in excellent health. I’ll admit, when I heard you were a circus looking to donate a bear, I was skeptical; often the poor things come to us in such a state.” The zookeeper and her veterinary assistant finish looking Magnus over._

_“Glad I did right by ‘im. He’s been a good show companion.” Duck rubs the bears nose and it huffs in recognition. It wasn’t the easiest decision, surrendering Magnus, but with the circus having to get out of San Francisco in a hurry and with fewer trucks than usual, it was the right one. A bear is memorable in a way a horse is not. Besides, Duck was worried that if things went south, Magnus could be hurt in the crossfire._

_Indrid can see the futures where Duck asks a certain question fading. He suspects because Duck may feel silly asking, even though if he doesn’t the worry will nag at him for days._

_“I do hope he will not be too lonely here. He’s grown accustom to our crowded little family.”_

_The zookeeper smiles at Indrid, “I doubt it. We have a female of his species we’ll put him in with, once we’re certain they get along. I suspect he and Julia will be a happy pair once they’re acquainted.”_

_“You behave yourself, y’hear. Make me proud.” Duck bows to Magnus one last time, the way he used to in the early days of their act. The bear bows back, and then the pair make their way out of the zoo and towards the truck._

That was late yesterday morning. Now, Indrid and Duck are winding up the heart of Oregon, Ned’s precautionary measures sending them on fewer paved roads than Indrid would have liked. 

They’ve traded off driving, allowing the other to sleep or eat while still putting distance between them and California. But now, as he sketches, he sees all the futures where he and Duck are followed right away are gone. He turns his attention to the passing scenery; they must be near a river, as the trees and shrubs are lush for summertime in the west. 

“Penny for your thoughts, sugar.”

“I’m realizing my fingers are sore from both drawing and channeling magic through them to make all the charms needed to disguise the trucks.”

Duck holds out one hand, and Indrid places his own into it. Duck kisses his knuckles, then his fingertips. 

Indrid hums happily, then adds, “If we pull off to the right on the dirt road after next, we will find a lovely spot to spend the evening.”

“We got time for that?”

“Indeed. And I think we’ve earned a respite from our travels.”

A smirk appears on Duck’s face as he carefully guides the truck down the road, pulling onto a patch of grass by the river. It doesn’t take them long to unhitch the trailer and take Winnie for a brief constitutional along the bank. 

“Think I’m gonna take a dip before dinner. Care to join me?” Duck pulls off his undershirt, and Indrid eyes him appreciatively as he answers. 

“No, but I shall sun myself on that rock, so you will not be lonely.” He follows Duck to the river, checks the futures before removing his glasses and setting them within reach of his sunbathing just in case. Lays down on his stomach, spreading his wings to soak in the warmth. 

“Don’t you da-” he mumbles right before Duck’s trousers and underwear land on his head. He lifts them off with a claw and sets them near his glasses. 

For a time he listens to the splashes, Duck bathing and humming “Wade in the water.” Then he peeks his eyes open. The light bouncing off the water, the droplets collecting on his lover’s strong chest, zig-zagging down his belly and thighs, the carefree smile on Duck’s face all make a strong case for this being paradise. 

There is one thing that would make it even more so, but there is time enough for that activity later. Right now the sun melting into his wings and Duck on display like a water nymph is perfection. 

Eventually water laps up the stone as Duck swims over, resting his arms on the rock and his chin on his arms as he smiles at Indrid.

“Ain’t you lookin pretty as a picture.”

“A rather surrealist one, perhaps.”

“Take the compliment, fluffball.” Duck kisses his cheek, hauls himself up beside him. Having him near is enough to make Indrid purr as he rolls onto his back.

“I’d rather take something else, my sweet.” 

“Yeah” Duck drawls, catching his meaning and running his fingers through the feathers of his chest, “how do you feel like takin me?”

“I have not used my tongue on you for far too long. Come” he crooks a finger, “have a seat.”

Duck straddles him, but rather than crawling up right away he pauses, carding his hands through dark down.

“Christ I forgot how fun feelin you up like this is. You’re so fuckin soft, and you got all these colors shining in the black feathers, god, cannot fuckin believe I get to touch you.” 

“I cannot believe you wish to.”

Duck kisses his way up Indrid’s chest and neck, stroking and ruffling his feathers expertly, remembering all the spots Indrid showed him, the ones that make him chirp with delight and coax his cock into showing itself. 

“Don’t give a good goddamn what the rest of the world thinks of you; you’re my Indrid. And you’re the most stunnin goddamn creature I ever had the honor of knowing.”

He chirrs, eyes shut in playful embarrassment. The warmth on either side of his head tells him Duck is in position. 

“Hands.” Duck orders softly. Indrid holds out his lower set first. Duck takes them, kisses each one, then rests them on his ass. Repeats the process when Indrid offers the upper set, adding a loving lick to his palm before setting the hands on his hips. 

Indrid flicks his tongue out, tastes river water and warm skin as he drags it along Duck’s inner thigh. Teases the left folds with it, then the right, that perfect ass tightening under his fingers.

“‘Drid, oh darling OH oh fuck, okay.” Duck’s hands hit the stone when Indrid thrusts his tongue inside. He presses in and out, curling his tongue until he finds the spot he’s looking for. 

Electric pleasure zips through his system and he trills. Duck’s remembered to play with his antennae. Massaging at the base, tugging at the tips with his teeth, reducing Indrid to messily moaning into him. 

“That’s it sugar, that’s fuckin incredible, fuck it feels good when you purr.”

Happy vibrations pour from his chest as he works his tongue harder, taking advantage of it’s flexibility and curving it in such a way to rub the head of Duck’s cock at the same time. 

“Yeah, _yes_.” Duck groans, rolling his hips, water dripping from his hair onto Indrid’s face, “so good sugar, you’re so goddamn good.”

Indrid pulls back a moment to breathe and to nuzzle his thighs, then rolls and drags his tongue in the lines and curves he knows will tip Duck over the edge. 

The human cums with his head thrown back and hips twitching in Indrid’s claws. He drags them lightly down his legs and along his belly, goosebumps rising in their wake when Duck sighs in pleasure. 

“Fuck that was nice. You, uh, you want me to scoot on down so you can fuck me? Your cock looks awful lonely.”

Indrid snickers, then shakes his head, “Not just yet. Here, lay on your back.”

As Duck gets comfortable on the warm stone, Indrid grabs his glasses, then has to quickly doff the clothes his human form is still wearing before he settles between Duck’s hastily spread legs. 

“May I?” His cock barely brushes the wet skin.

“You know it.”

It’s achingly familiar, the way their bodies fit together when he thrusts in. He moans, torn between savoring every inch, each small gesture and touch, and fucking the other man so hard he’ll feel it for weeks, even with his superior durability.

A question flashes through the futures, and he answers it without Duck ever speaking the words. 

“While I enjoy sex with you in my Sylph form I, ah, I wanted to be human this time. It’s, it’s the first time we’ve done this since, well, you know. I needed to fit in your arms this time, to remember what it’s like to be held when I do this, remember what it’s like to have nothing but skin between us. Perhaps that is silly.”

Mis-matched eyes scan his face, one warm hand cupping his cheek. 

“Not to me it ain’t.”

Slowly, tenderly, Duck guides him down for a kiss, rolls them onto their sides, Indrid inside him all the while. 

His hips find their rhythm, steady and languid, enough force to keep him on the edge of pleasure and draw little moans of glee or gasps of thanks from Duck. That allows his mind to focus on the kisses; short bursts of them to his cheeks or along his neck, Duck’s tongue gliding between his parted lips to find his own, the way the other man whimpers when Indrid nips his lower lip. The way the word “love” flows between them whenever there’s a pause to breathe.

Then there’s the embrace itself, Duck’s body still pliant post-orgasm, his body warm, each muscle, each curve a feast under his fingers. Duck’s hands busy themselves in his hair or along his back, sometimes stroking him in time with his thrusts. 

When he cums it’s drawn out, milder than many climaxes but leaving him breathless all the same. Duck pulls their bodies flush, let’s him pulse his hips and moan weakly, spill inside him until he goes soft. All the while stroking his cheek and whispering “Indrid, Indrid, Indrid” between kisses. 

By the time they pull apart he’s boneless, and when he tries to stand and make himself useful Duck scoops him up and carries him into the trailer, laying him on the bed and drawing a quilt over him. 

“‘M gonna make sure everythin’s in workin order and ready to go for the mornin. Then I’ll join you.”

Indrid nods, half-asleep. Drifts in and out of dreams and futures to the sounds of the river and of Duck puttering about camp. 

At one point, there’s a new voice outside and he stiffens, waiting for danger. Shortly after Duck opens the door, carrying a small bouquet of white flowers and some peaches. 

“Some fella with a fruit stand in the back of his truck, says this is his normal route, tryin to sell to passersby. Bought a few things, figured you’d like ‘em and it lets us help him. Goin up and down this road all day hopin to make a buck must be miserable.”

“That was sweet of you.” He murmurs.

Duck blows him a kiss before stepping back outside. 

As his eyes flutter shut, he swears static or the sensation of a movie projector running wrong is circling the edges of his mind. 

Ah well, these things happen from time to time when someone is tired. There’s no need for concern. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------  
Aubrey is dreaming, she can tell because Dr. Harris Bonkers can talk and because she and Dani have wings and are flying circles around...is that the Chrysler building?

Then she sees it. The mass of flashing black and red, the overwhelming sense of rage crackling in the air. 

The Quell. 

She turns, finds herself alone in the dream now, is relieved that only dream-her and not dream-Dani has to deal with this. That everyone else is safe. 

“Can’t you leave me alone even in my sleep? That was a really fun dream!”

 **Take her, they want to take her.**

That’s pretty much what she assumed the Quell sounded like, swirling and multi-toned. 

**Don’t let them.**

“Them who? Look, if this is a prophetic dream or a vision or something, you’re gonna need to be clearer. Also that’s kinda Indrid’s thing, maybe you have the wrong-”

 **Protect her!** The voices roar. 

Aubrey falls off the bed, hitting the floor with a thunk. 

“Honey?” Dani peeks over the edge after her, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” She pats her hair, her body, checking to be sure this isn’t still a dream, then looks up at her wife, “I just had a really wild dream. At least, I think it was a dream. Because if it wasn’t, I got a feeling we’re in really, really big trouble.”

\-----------------------------------------------------

“Are you sure this is worthwhile, sir? A mid-level thief picked up on parole is hardly an obvious lead.”

“Officer Ross, in this line of work, hunches have their uses.” Hayes steps through the doorway into the hall of cells.

He doesn’t add that his son’s collection, found strewn across his floor, of what he assumed to be useless newspaper clippings have their uses as well. For all his eccentricities, it appears Joseph found a link between Amnesty Circus and a string of disappearances and deaths. That combined with Indrid Cold’s presence at the circus, and the fact that they skipped town the day the story of another mysterious death broke is enough to launch an investigation.

Oh, and the fact they kidnapped his son. Joseph is many things William Hayes Stern finds distasteful, but careless is not one of them. The man would not run away with the circus without taking clothes, money, or identification. Which means he didn’t go willingly. 

“Now, Ross, keep in mind, Amnesty was founded in a small town called Kepler, in West Virginia. This gentleman was picked up near there about a year prior to that. It’s assumed he had an accomplice, though he never gave a description.”

The interview room is dingy and crowded, Hays and Ross bringing the total bodies in it up to six. At the table sits a tall, muscled, tattooed man, glowering at them. 

“I wouldn’t waste your time sir” says one officer, “he’s refused to say two words since we booked him.”

Hayes reaches into his pocket, produces an envelope and tosses it onto the table. 

“Inside that are photos of various persons wanted in connection with a possible crime. I want to know if you recognize them.”

A derisive snort and a raised eyebrow is all the response he gets. 

“I know you must view a parole violation, even a multi-state one, as a minor issue. It is not, at least it will not be in your case. If my suspicions are correct, the cause of your hopping from state to state is in that envelope.”

The smallest shift in the chair, the man actually looking at the envelope this time. 

“If you cooperate, rest assured your parole violations will be forgotten. Continue to be a hindrance to justice and...well, let me simply say there are many unsolved crimes. I’m sure one of them was committed by you. Or can be made to look that way.”

The man reaches his cuffed hands across the table, dumps the photos out. It took Hayes little time to gather them; Amnesty’s performers have been photographed numerous times by newspapers. 

He watches the thief push photos to the side without a second look: Madeline Cobb, Indrid Cold, Barclay Cobb, Wayne Newton.

Then he stops, peers at a photo, and looks up at Hayes with a smirk. 

“I know this bloke.”

“And his methods?”

“Them too. Know them real well.”

“In that case” he holds out his hand and the other man shakes it, “I have a job for you, Mr. Mosche.”

“Please,” he’s seen wolves with kinder smiles, “Call me Boyd.”


	13. Bag of Tricks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stern gives chase. Barclay goes for dip. Indrid has some news.

At least he gets to get off the train on his own two feet rather than in a trunk. Other than that, Stern is not feeling much better about his situation when they reach Seattle. The town is shrouded in rain as they step out of the station and into the streets, turning towards the waterfront. It’s a steady, grim drizzle, and offers an excellent backdrop for his troubled thoughts. 

Said thoughts would be easier to get in order if Barclay wasn’t so stubbornly respectful and sweet. 

It’s not just that he lends Stern his rainslicker and clean clothes, or that the way he holds Stern’s hand as they walk feels like a gesture of affection rather than a precaution against him bolting.

It’s that he’d kept his distance on the train when Stern asked, didn’t try to speak with him after the fight. That he woke up to a cup of coffee made just how he likes it, perched atop a paperback by his bed. That felt more like an apology than all Barclay’s previous attempts. 

Their time on the train gave him hour after hour to mull over the explanation the other man offered. He wants to believe it, indeed the more he took the pieces out and looked at them, the more the story made sense. It would be wonderful to be able to breathe easy again, to know his friends were really just that. And it would be magnificent to learn that the mysteries he’d been fascinated by all his life were real, and within his grasp to understand. 

But his confidence in his own ability to read a situation correctly is shaken, given that the last time he tried he ended up unconscious in a steamer trunk. His ego isn’t fairing much better, and the thought of his hopes or his affection for a certain cook landing him in an even worse position than his current one is unbearable. Skepticism is the only shield he has left. 

He stays silent on their journey down to the sea, though Ned does more than enough talking for the four of them. Barclay doesn’t try to draw him out. But he doesn’t mock him or lift an eyebrow when Stern shivers and presses his shoulder against him, either. 

They pass along a pier, lined with restaurants, their neon and fluorescents sputtering in the dark, markets and, at the far end, a permanent circus tent and stalls, closed for the day. 

Mama stops them outside a building proclaiming it’s halls of amusements and waterside dining. In smaller, humbler letters beneath that it reads _Tarkesian’s Boarding House. Rooms Available._

The lobby is painted a soft blue, and a man about his father’s age stands behind the counter. 

“Ah, just the man we wanted to see!” 

“Do my ears deceive me or is that the subdued entrance of Ned Chicane I hear?” The man looks up with a gruff smile. 

“I hope to fuck you got those rooms ready so we can all hear less of him.” Mama takes off her hat, tipping her head in friendly recognition.

“I do. Got calls from both Aubrey and Duck, they’re makin good time, should be here tomorrow.” He pulls three keys off the wall, “Minerva is closin up the amusement hall, so you’ll probably see her at dinner. Here you go, top floor, far left, just like old times." 

The peeling paint in the halls isn’t promising, so Stern is surprised when Barclay unlocks room number one to reveal warm wooden walls, fresh looking sheets and blankets stacked on the bed, and a view of the water. It’s not unlike how he imagined the inn in Treasure Island when he read it as a boy. 

“Glad to see they took my advice and ripped out that mouse eaten carpet.” Barclay sets his bag down on the bed. When Stern looks at him quizzically, he adds, “Mama and I used to joke about buying this place, running it as a lodge for, uh, nevermind.” 

Stern lays the rainslicker on a chair by the radiator, murmurs, “You’d be good at that.”

“You think?” The undercurrent of excitement, presumably from Stern speaking to him for the first time in over a day, makes him ache. 

“Mm” is all he says in response.

Barclay sighs, barely audible, then, “I’m gonna go see if I can help with dinner. That was part of the deal last time we stayed here, so I’m guessing they’ll expect the same this time. Do you want to come?”

“No, thank you. If there are leftovers, I’d appreciate some.”

“Joe, I know this is a crummy situation but we’re not gonna shun you or something if you wanna eat with us.”

“I’d rather stay here.”

“Okay. Well, see you in a bit. I guess.” Barclay closes the door. Stern let’s himself collapse a bit, sprawling on the unmade bed and listening to the rain on the pavement and rooftops. 

He could figure out how to escape if he really wanted to. He knows this. He suspects Barclay does too. For the better part of an hour, he indulges the fantasy, picks paths to follow once he’s free, lives to begin once this is all behind him. 

The trouble is, even in those fantasies, he longs for Barclay, writes to him, comes back to him again and again.

“Swell.” He groans, rolling onto his back, “just swell.” 

This calls for a different distraction, and so he pulls Barclay’s suitcase over, opening it and reaching into the pouch where the books live. 

He yanks his hand back just in time to avoid a shiny, reptilian head as it strikes at him from within the pocket. 

“What in the-”

The creature half slithers, half skitters from it’s hiding place, red eyes locked onto him. It’s not a snake, it’s not any creature he’s ever heard of or seen before. It snaps it’s jaws at him as he jumps onto the floor; there are fangs like a viper and rows of teeth like a great white shark. It’s barely the size of a squirrel, but he has no interest in letting it get any closer to him. 

There has to be a way to trap it, or to stun it. He grabs the slicker from the chair and tosses it onto the creature, causing it to wriggle and hiss. Lifts the chair itself to try to hit it, only for it’s head to appear under the fabric. It shrieks, spits something he’s not fast enough to avoid. 

His pants steam and the back of his hand feels like someone put their cigarette out in it. The chair hits the floor with a clatter, and as he’s trying to take in his injury the creature clambers up the wall and through the small gap in the window. When he flings the panes open, hand still burning, the monster is nearly to the pavement. As the raindrops collect on it’s skin, they absorb, and it grows, now the size of a housecat. 

It’s a miracle he doesn’t tumble down the stairs in his haste to find Barclay.

“Unless you want whatever was in your bag loose in town, we need to run now.”

The cook jumps, shuts off the stove, “Jesus, sorry, you startled me. Wait, what was in my bag?”

“I’ll explain on the way, come on.” Stern grabs him, pulling him out a side entrance and into the streets, “it was like a snake and demon had a child. The damn thing spit some kind of venom on my hand-”

“Venom? Oh _shit_.” Barclay runs faster, “We killed that thing, I know we did, what the fuck was it doing in my stuff? And where did it go?” 

“It was heading this way, since water makes it bigger we can assume it’s heading for the bay.”

Barclay pauses, scanning the dark streets and the water ahead of them. He sniffs the air once, twice, and then he’s bearing left, so fast that Stern is now struggling to keep up with him. 

“There.” Barclay points and Stern spies their quarry, well on it’s way to being the size of a deer, skittering down a pier. He sprints, footfalls thudding on damp wood. Stern follows, then doubles back, grabbing a net from a nearby boat. 

Barclay, managing to head the beast off, notices his find, “Good thinking. If I can keep it looking at me, can you get that over it?”

“I can try.”

“Right here, yeah, keep looking right here you abomination, remember me? I helped bring you down last time. Or bring down your family member.”

The monster sways, tracking Barclay, then rears up to strike. Stern hurls the net over it, both he and Barclay lunging at the creature when the throw hits its mark. 

“Nicely done, partner.” Barclay grins, trying to keep the front half of the still-growing monster under control.

“Thank you. Any, ow, thoughts on what to do next?”

“I can probably knock it out long enough to get it back to the kitchen and chop it’s head off.”

His concern about the creature being too big for that never gets a voice, as a tail lashes the bridge of his nose at the same second a claw tears along his arm. It weakens his grip, and the creature whips and rolls, trying to free itself from Barclay’s hold. 

“I got it, don’t worry,” Barclay calls as he wrestles the monster, “just stay clear okay? I got-”

_Splash_

“Shit!” Stern scrambles to the edge where the cook and the monster disappeared. There’s frantic splashing, moving from the shallower water into the deeper, but he can’t see a defined shape.

“Barclay, _Barclay_!” Panic rises and he forces it down again; if he doesn’t see him in a count of ten, he’s going in the water after him.

A gasp as Barclay surfaces nearby, “I, it’s getting way bigger, I got it, or, uh, we’re both kinda in the net now so it’s got me too, but if I can just keep it from dragging me out further-”

He’s yanked a good two feet to the side, towards open water. Stern darts forward, manages to grab his hand, then his wrist. 

“Can you swim at all?”

“I’m trying-owfuck.” He jerks back, Stern using all his might to keep him from being pulled further or from falling in the water himself. 

“You gotta let go, I don’t want it getting you too.”

“What makes you think” he grunts, trying to pull him closer, “I want it getting you?”

Barclay smiles at him, which should be impossible under the circumstances. Then the monster tugs, roiling water indicating it’s gotten even larger, and his grip starts to give. Then it must dive, because Barclay is pulled under and all Stern is left holding is his woven bracelet.

It’s hopeless trying to swim after them, but he has no intention of giving up the chase. Which means he’ll just have to steal a boat. 

A shape arcs out of the water, hitting the pier with a splattery thunk. 

It’s the monster. Two halves of the monster. 

A second shape heaves itself up onto the boards, and he hurries to assist Barclay. But whatever emerges is far too big, dark fur dripping puddles onto the ground. It stands, panting, and that gives him a chance to recognize it. In fact, he’s seen it many times. 

And if he’s right, he’s also kissed it at least once. 

“Barclay, you’re….you’re the Sasquatch. The man-ape people keep reporting.”

“Yeah.” It’s unmistakably Barclay’s voice, his sheepish scratching of the back of his neck, “I’m, uh, one of those. Not the only one, and that’s not what we’re really called.”

“Wait...wait this means your costume wasn’t a costume at all, was it?”

“Nope. Um, can we talk about this later? When I’m not standing like this in the middle of a major city.”

“Alright. This must have something to do with it, right?” He holds out the bracelet. 

“Right. Can I have it back?”

Stern holds it out to him, then hesitates, “Later?”

“Later.” Barclay nods. 

When he slips on the bracelet, reality tilts for half a second, and then it’s just Barclay, soaking wet and starting to shiver, in front of him. He picks up the monster, still contained in the net, and slings it over his shoulder. 

“C’mon, we should head back and tell the others about this. It didn’t get you too bad, did it?”

“The venom hurt, but it’s fading, and the others are just scratches.” He falls in beside the cook, “you?”

“It bit the shit out of my shoulder while we were in the water, but I’ve had worse.” 

A flicker of movement in an alleyway, but as Stern turns to look at it Barclay adds, “Guessing you believe me now.”

“Yes” he looks up at him, “I have more questions than ever, but at least I know you weren’t making things up to trick me. And I’m, I’m sorry I didn’t trust you.”

“I shoved you in a trunk, it was a reasonable reaction.”

“I know. But you shared something that’s clearly, deeply secret and I dismissed it out of hand. That was poor investigation on my part.”

They step through the side door of the boarding house and are immediately face to face with Mama.

“What the fuck were---oh, fuck, ain’t that the one we killed? How the fuck did it get here?”

“It was hiding in his luggage.” 

Mama groans, “And you went chasin after it?”

“We both did.” Barclay replies, “Joe helped a lot. He, um, also saw my Sylph form. Well, saw it for real, I guess.”

“Of course he did.” Mama sighs, “well, that settles our next move far as you’re concerned Joseph. Meet me downstairs tomorrow mornin, and I’ll explain everythin Barclay don’t get to tonight. What do you reckon we oughta do with this abomination.”

“Whatever will keep it from, I dunno, regrowing? Splitting off? Whatever it did last time.”

“You could burn it, like a hydra.” Stern offers. 

They both blink at him. 

“In Greek mythology, the Hydra could regrow a head that was chopped off. The way a lizard can regrow it’s tail. The way to stop that was to burn the wound.”

Mama shrugs, “Works for me. You wanna do the honors, Barclay. Or, on second thought” she takes the net when Barclay lifts it from his shoulder, “how about you let me do it? You see to that mess instead.”

Blood steadily seeps through Barclay shirt at his shoulder, and Stern gingerly cups his elbow to check the injury.

“Don’t worry, got a feelin you got a willin nursemaid.” She arches an eyebrow at Stern, and he blushes. 

The blush is not helped when, as soon as they reach the room, Barclay strips his shirt off to examine the damage. The skin is mottled blue and black, the scratches and bites plentiful but not deep. 

“Thank the lord it didn’t get a full chunk out of your arm.”

“You can thank my fur for that; thick enough in certain places that fangs have a hard time getting through.” Barclay crosses into the bathroom and Stern follows, grabbing a washcloth and turning on the tap. 

“Babe, I got it.”

“Consider this an apology for all the kicking yesterday.” He wets the cloth as Barclay sits down on the edge of the tub. 

“You did get me good.”

“I’m sorry.” He dabs the blood away.

“I tackled you, I think we’re just about even.” Barclay tenses when the cloth runs over a deeper cut, then his head slowly droops until it’s resting on Stern’s shoulder. He huffs now and then in pain, but mostly seems to be enjoying the contact. 

“Do we have a bandage somewhere?”

“Cabinet above the sink; Leo always stocks them up when we come to town. Hold on.” He captures his hand as it comes back from setting the cloth in the tub, “lemme take a look at this. Yeah, you’re gonna want one for you too, just so this doesn’t get irritated.”

He nods, grabs two fresh strips of bandage from the cabinet, starts wrapping Barclay’s shoulder as he says, “How come you were so willing to be in your, what did you call it? Sylph form? At the circus?”

“Because everyone assumes it’s fake in the first place. Even you.”

“I saw the greasepaint, and the false hair-”

“I was telling the truth when I said Jake made me up. But what he did was make it look like someone had somewhat messily applied fake fur, put greasepaint marks to suggest seams, even when it was real. You filled in the rest yourself, assumed things like trick shoes where there were none.”

“Ingenious.” He ties off the bandage, gives the other to Barclay when he opens his palm.

“Means a lot coming from you.” Barclay holds the tips of his fingers carefully, determining where to start the bandage. 

“....I cannot believe I kissed Sasquatch.” He chuckles after a moment. 

“ _A_ sasquatch. Like I said, there’s lots of people like me, especially back home on Sylvain. And frankly, neither can I. I mean, I chalked it up to you having the hots for me and not caring about what you thought was a costume, but it was still surprising. Guess you really do have a thing for the strange and unusual.” He grins.

“I have a ‘thing’ for you.” He smiles back. 

Barclay kisses him on the nose, “Can you move your hand like this?”

He flexes, then makes a fist, “Yes.”

“Good. I’m gonna rinse all the saltwater and monster guts off me. Um, are you okay if I do that in my other form?”

“Of course.” He sits, expectantly, then realizes Barclay likely wants privacy for his bath, “I’ll be just out there if you need me.”

He makes up the bed while the water runs, then wishes once again that he had some clothes of his own; he’s damp, and there is blood on his shirt of indeterminate origins. 

The wet clothes hang by the radiator, and he finds some pajamas in the bag. If he wears those, plus some underwear, he should be fine. He’s more than comfortable being naked around Barclay, but given that they’re still on shaky ground, the disaster of the last few days looming behind them, he doesn’t want to presume that intimacy is welcome. 

When the bathroom door swings open in a cloud of steam, he laughs somewhat louder than is polite. Barclay, towel around his waist and perilously close to whacking his head on the ceiling, seems to be having trouble with his red-brown fur. Some patches are fluffed dry, others sticking up, still wet, so he looks truly absurd.

“Damn, forgot how hard it is to dry off like this. And if you think this is funny, come a little closer so I can shake off like a fucking sheepdog and get you wet too.”

“Here” Stern pulls the chair away from the radiator so Barclay can sit down as close to it as possible. He does, pats the ground so Stern sits on the floor next to him. 

“Much better.” Barclay stretches his legs out in front of him, rests his hands in his lap. Stern glances down at them, eyes drawn by movement, and understands another reason why his circus costume included pants. One he didn't spot int he darkness of the pier.

“You’re staring, babe.” Barclay doesn’t seem the least bit bothered, but then falters, “uh, if it’s making you uncomfortable I can put the towel back on.”

“No” Stern can’t tear his eyes away, “I’m just realizing it’s a good thing you didn’t fuck me in that tent after the act. I’m not entirely sure I’d survive.”

“Seems like you like that idea.” 

“I...uh, that is, we both like it rough, both enjoy painOH.” A short claw drags along his leg, first down and then up, not nearly hard enough to harm him but more than enough to send pleasure curling up his spine.

“I fucking knew you’d like the claws.”

“I do.”

Barclay drags two claws in figure eights along his leg, “Y’know, if I had fucked you like this in the tent, you woulda been just fine. Wanna know why?”

“Yes” He scoots closer, runs his fingers along Barclay’s chest.

“Because I woulda gone so fucking slow, treated you so fucking well that even if you couldn’t walk for a week you wouldn't have cared. Woulda been so good for you, had you so worked up and ready you’d slide right down my cock, pretty boy.”

“Lord.” He curls forward, fur tickling his nose when he nuzzles Barclay’s neck.

“You like that? Like the fact that I can snap a monster in half, snap you in half, but won’t because I so goddamn smitten all I wanna do is serve you?”

“Yes, Barclay, oh lord” he tilts his face up and Barclay, looking a little surprised, dips down to deliver the asked for kiss.

“We, uh, we may wanna quit while we’re ahead.” He says when he pulls back, stroking Stern ‘s cheek with the soft pads of his fingers, “no way I can fuck tonight, and I got the feeling you’re pretty beat too.”

“You make a good point. All the same, big guy, you deserve a reward for your bravery today.”

“Babe, that is literally part of my job.”

“Work with me here.” Stern bites his ear and a delightful yip leaps from his chest, “I’m happy to bask in exploring this version of you, and feeling those claws on my skin. But there must be something you’d like as well.”

"Well..."

"Barclay" Stern scolds gently, "I can't do it if you don't tell me what it is."

“Would you--hoo boy this is strange to say out loud--would you groom me? I got a comb in my bag, and my fur could use the attention in places.”

“I fought a monster and found out my boyfriend is a Sasquatch from another world. That is not all that strange, in comparison.” He retrieves the comb, settles in Barclay’s lap so they’re face to face. Starts on a tangle on his chest as the claws skirt under his shirt and trail along his back. 

He’s midway through a second set of tangles when he asks, “How come you ended up here, if you’re from another world?”

“My home is dying. It’s connected to Earth through this gate that was in Kepler for a long time. A few humans knew, and started helping Sylphs who came across. Most of my kind who come through are exiled because we tried to take a little more energy from the planet than we were rationed. Indrid is an exception, he came trying to figure out if something about Earth could help Sylvain heal, but he seems to like it here so much he stayed even after it became clear there was no answer. Then the gate started moving, so we had to chase it. The Pine Guard, that’s what we call ourselves, is in charge of making sure nothing that goes through that gate in either direction can cause too much damage.”

“Huh. And you don’t know what’s causing the gate?”

“We think it’s the Quell; Sylvains other half. It’s come through, or tried to, in bits and pieces. We can’t word out why, other than it’s pissed. At one point Indrid thought it was coming for him because he failed his mission; that’s why he ran away.”

“In his defense, you’ve said two sentences about it to me and it sounds terrifying.”

“Gotta say babe, you don’t seem scared of much. You’re brushing a monster, for fucks sake.” Barclay teases.

“ _My_ monster.” It comes out automatically and he freezes, staring at Barclay and hoping that wasn’t an insult. 

Barclay leans forward, growl building in his chest as he brushes their lips together, “pretty boy, do you like the idea of being a monster's master?”

“Yes.” He stares confidently into brown eyes that are staring at him like he’s a ten course meal.

Barclay grins, “when this mess is over, I’m gonna let the whole beast loose and see what you do.”

“I honestly can’t tell if we’re talking about you, your primal urges, or your cock.”

Barclay barks out a laugh, hugs him close as any trace of menace drops away, “Kinda lost track myself. Tired, remember?”

“True. But you seem dry enough now that I think we can actually go to bed.”

“I like the way you think. Gonna sleep like this, since you got my pajamas.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, you can-”

“Eh, keep ‘em for now. They look good on you.”

With terrifying ease, Barclay scoops him up and carries him to bed. They nestle under the covers, the springs making their complaints about the situation known. 

This time, when Barclay drapes his arms around him, he cuddles as close as he can. It’s not a prison, not any more; now, he just feels at home.

\------------------------------------

He awakens the next morning to an empty bed and a commotion downstairs. He throws on yesterdays clothes and hurries down, hoping it’s good noise rather than bad. It turns out to be the ruckus caused by people who were worried they might never see each other again who are also all trying to lay claim to breakfast. 

“Hi Joseph!” Aubrey waves at him from the large dining table, around which sit most of the circus, along with Leo and a tall, muscular woman who must be Minerva, “Barclay said you’re one of us now, which is awesome because it means I can finally show you more tricks!”

“That’s good, um, has Mama told you about last night?”

“What happened last night?” Jake looks up from his pancakes. 

“Well-”

“Damn, we got here just in time.” Duck walks into the room, Indrid close behind him. 

“Duck Newton! It is good to see you again!” Minerva stands, embracing Duck and lifting him off the ground, “and you as well, Indrid Cold!”

“Hello MinervAH!” Indrid is lifted into the hug along with Duck.

“Have you been training as you should?” She asks, setting both men down.

“I’ve been trainin. Kinda.” Duck flags Mama down as she enters the room carrying two pots of coffee, Barclay behind her with a tray. 

“So, uh, we got good news and bad news. Good news is we made it in one piece, and we weren’t followed.”

“What’s the bad news?” Barclay sets the tray on the table, turning to Indrid.

“For starters, something is disrupting my powers. Which is not ideal. Because I have reason to expect the gate will open much sooner than anticipated.”


	14. Beneath it All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stern plans. Barclay confesses. Indrid flies.

“Alright, perhaps I should have elaborated slightly” Indrid takes in his companions expressions of alarm, “It is unlikely to open, say, tonight or tomorrow, but the timelines, when I can see them, are saying we have less than a week. Forgive me, it is, ah, difficult to get my thoughts in order when this is happening.” He sits down in a wooden chair, takes the glass of juice Aubrey slides him. 

“Any idea what’s causing it?” She asks as Dani nervously plucks the petals from a flower in the table vase.

“None. It started yesterday, and it has not stopped.”

“And what it means is, we gotta find that gate before it’s made if we want any chance of gettin a jump on this thing.” Duck rests a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“How do you figure we do that?” Barclay is drying his hand anxiously on the towel looped through his belt. He is also standing very close to Joseph, who seems at ease. Good, at least they got that sorted out.

“I’m not certain.”

“Christ I miss Thacker.” Mama cards her fingers through her hair. She’s right, of course; the missing man’s deep knowledge of Sylvan lore, of the mechanics of the planet, far outstripped even his own. He, Barclay, Dani, and Jake may be from Sylvain, but Thacker was captivated by her. He _knew_ her.

“Is there anything that grows stronger, like your powers, or someone else's, the closer you are to the gate?” Joseph’s question breaks the worried silence like a stone on water, rippling outwards until Dani’s face lights up.

“The crystals! We use them to track abominations when we’re having trouble, right? If they react to traces of Sylvain in those, maybe they could react to traces when the gate starts forming.”

Indrid tilts his head, considering the idea, “It is certainly possible. While we can open the gate relatively easily once it is built, constructing it anew would take time, and during that time a little of Sylvain's power might slip through the cracks. A draft creeping in before a window is opened, if you will. Yes” his grin breaks across his face, “I think that just might work.”

“See, married her for more than just her good looks.” Aubrey kisses her wife, proud. Dani rolls her eyes, but blushes all the same. 

“I agree it’s as good a plan as any, but this is a huge fuckin area to search. Don’t suppose your visions narrowed down a spot before they went haywire.” Mama turns back to Indrid.

“No. If we are going off the patterns of the last day, I will have ten minutes warning at most of the gates location.”

“Fuck.”

“Have they followed any sort of pattern? The gates, I mean” Joseph is spinning his butter knife in his hands. 

“Nope. They just pop up in random places, soon as we defeat an abomination in one, down the gate goes only to show up three states away. If we didn’t have Indrid, we’d be fucked.”

“How can you be certain they’re random?” Joseph is now looking up at Barclay, “after all, if you think they’re being made deliberately, which it seems like some of you do, then it follows that someone is making choices about where to put them.”

“You’re sayin they’re too all over the place to be random.” Duck is nodding, and Indrid sees an idea forming on his face. 

“More or less. What’s random to one person’s eye could be very calculated to another’s. If we could determine if there’s a pattern, or a common factor, to where the gates open, maybe we can narrow down where to search here.”

“Makes a hell of a lot of sense from where I’m sittin. Mama?”

“Sure worth a try.”

“Leo, you got any decent sized maps of the states?”

“Might have one left over from the world wonders exhibit a few years back. Minerva, if you take the front half of the amusement hall, I can take the back.”

As the two depart for their search, Indrid turns to his remaining friends. This is the part he’s dreaded the most. 

“Not to add to the alarm, but what I have been feeling when I try to look at visions involving the gate is, well, it is that same feeling I had right before and after we lost Thacker. As if something particularly malevolent is coming, and is concerned with me. I still am not certain what it means, only that I think we should prepare for a more intense encounter with the Quell.”

“Ummm, what if it isn’t the Quell that’s causing this.”

He blinks at Aubrey, perplexed by what she’s about to say.

“Look, we know the abominations are things from Sylvain that have been kinda corrupted by the Quell. But what if the Quell isn’t the one opening the gate? What if it’s hurt and angry and someone else is using that to cause problems?”

“What’s makin you think that?” Duck takes the chair next to Indrid.

“So, like, I know prophetic dreams and stuff are kind of Indrid’s thing, but I’m pretty sure I had one last night. And the night before that. And it’s always the Quell, talking about a ‘them’ and a ‘her.’ I think the ‘her’ is probably Sylvain, but I have no clue what ‘them’ is. Are? Anyway, if there’s something the Quell is scared of, or worried about to the point of telling me, a person who has been fighting it, about, I think there might be people at play here we aren’t seeing.”

“Wouldn’t you have seen them or it?” Joseph asks Indrid.

“In a perfect world, yes. But it’s not impossible, if something is interfering with my visions, that there has been another means of influencing my powers from afar that kept me from seeing something important.”

“TRIUMPH!” A giant map of the United States flaps onto the table, Minerva beaming at her find. 

“Jesus!” Duck jumps, and Indrid snickers at his surprise. As he does, Joseph walks to the check-in desk, returning with a pen. 

“Okay, does someone have a record of all the places you’ve chased the gate.”

“Yep,” Mama stands, “but only because you had the sense to bring my ledger back when you tried to make Barclay leave.”

“Sorry.” Joseph mumbles, looking for Kepler on the map, only finding it when Duck taps his finger on the spot. 

Soon, the map is dotted with marks and every person in the room is looking at it, trying to make sense of the pattern. Indrid draws out different iterations of the pattern while Ned, Minerva, Duck, and Joseph put their heads together to think of every possible alphabet or code system they can. 

Suddenly, Barclay says, “Indrid, Dani, come stand right here.” 

Indrid stands, hurrying to his side as Dani does the same. 

“Look at it from this angle; look familiar?”

“It’s the heart. Or, almost the heart.” Dani gasps.

“So it is.” Indrid murmurs, before clarifying for the others, “That’s an insignia that was common in Sylvain before her decline, meant to represent the crystal that is her heart.”

He traces his finger along the symbol, curving it up to the final point.

“If our guess is correct, we need to search in this area.” He taps near Pioneer Square.

“Well then” Mama cracks her knuckles, “no time to lose. Let’s hit the pavement.”

\-----------------------------------------------------

Joseph is enjoying this more than he probably should, given that it’s a hunt upon which their lives, and the lives of many others, depends. 

But he’s only human, and taking what amounts to an orderly stroll through the city with his boyfriend is an excellent way to pass the time. 

It helps that Barclay, though moving with clear purpose, crystal tucked in his shirt pocket so he can feel if it warms, will pause for two things; kisses from Stern, and food from the small stalls and markets. He always insists Joseph eats first, and his eyes take on a certain glint whenever Joseph noticeably enjoys what he’s eating. If Joseph adds in the odd moan or sigh just to watch that glimmer brighten, well, all's fair in love and way. 

The bustle of the city helps his nerves, leaving him feeling as though he’s unnoticeable in a throng or paused under an awning so Barclay can kiss the corners of his mouth. That, and the fact there’s been no sign of police of any kind following them. 

He’d thought they’d be able to add one more group to the patrol, as it seemed that both Aubrey and Dani had crystals on them. But Aubrey shook her head, explaining that her necklace was a family heirloom. 

"It's called the flamebright pendant but it's not related to your powers?"

"I don't think so?"

"Huh."

When night falls, everyone retreats back to the boarding house. Aubrey, Dani, Mama and Jake don disguises made by Indrid in order to perform at the circus. Barclay and Stern cook, Ned searches for underground information on where one might hide something in this city, and Indrid fills his room with drawings, trying to see their foe coming. 

Joseph takes on the role of, each night before bed, going over the smaller, more detailed map of the city they acquired and crossing out street after street and planning the layout of the search for the next day. 

Tonight, the third time he’s done this, is a little different. For starters, he’s naked from the waist down, standing rather than sitting at his desk.

And there’s someone else in his chair. 

“Babe, please, you're killing me.” A creak of wood as Barclay struggles, his wrists tied firmly behind his back and to the chair.

He doesn’t even turn around, marks off another street as he replies, “you have no one to blame but yourself, big guy.”

“H-how do you figure that? Awfuck, c’mon.” Barclay groans as Stern shifts forward so his cock is just barely in him.

“You were the one who wouldn’t stop kissing my neck, who kept whispering in my ear about how I should take a break. This is a compromise. After all, I have a job to do.”

“Rather you do me instead.” Barclay grumbles, then whimpers when Stern pulls all the way off, continues checking his map against the notes he made this morning. 

As he scribbles and checks off, pleading little growls peek over his shoulder, and the head of Barclay’s cock bumps ineffectively against his ass, the cook thrusting up, hoping for another chance to fuck him. He starts on the area assignments for the next day, then looks behind for the first time since they started. 

“Barclay, you’re _whining_. How do you expect me to get anything done?”

“Joe, please, please, just a little, if you let me inside just a little I’ll be so quiet, you won’t even know I’m here.” 

“Given the monstrosity between your legs would then be in my ass, I highly doubt that. And now you’re pouting.”

Barclay inhales deeply through his nose, eyes shut. When he exhales, it’s with a desperate growl, “Please, babe. I’ll, I’ll do anything, just wanna make you feel good.”

Stern adjusts, legs burning a little from the odd stance he takes in order to just allow Barclay to push into his ass. 

“That’s as much as you’re getting. If you want to go deeper, you’ll have to do the work yourself. And you’d better be quiet while you do.” He turns back to his work, moans when Barclay manages to buck up into him. He'll never get bored of that stretch. The table jolts as he continues, grunting, and Stern smirks as the thrusts become less frequent and weaker, Barclay not able to keep fucking him at that angle with only his legs and abdominals to help him. 

When Barclay nearly slips out, there’s a rumbling, frustrated sound that Stern feels in his chest. 

“Control yourself, big guy, I’m almost done.”

There’s the distinct “mmph” of Barclay forcing his mouth to stay shut. His thrusts slow, and Stern finishes his list of streets each group will search the next day. 

“Done.” He sinks all the way down on Barclay without warning, his own moan drowned out by the howlpurr that leaves his boyfriend. 

“What did I say about noise? Find a way to muffle itOhhhhhhhhhfuck.” Barclay’s mouth finds his neck, licking and biting the skin. Stern tilts his head to the side to allow him better access.

“Mmmmm, perfect solution.”

Barclay huffs, pleased. The Stern stops moving.

“I’m tired. If you want to come, you’ll have to work for it.”

The noise he thinks of as Barclay’s true growl, the one without any attempts at sounding human, fills the room. 

_Snap_

One arm, rope still on the wrist, circles his hips, the other his chest and he yelps as Barclay rams up into him.

“That feel good, pretty boy?”

“Yes, fuckyes, oh lord Barclay, god it’s good when you use all that strength.” He grips the arm holding his chest.

“All? Babe, this is barely even, fuck, half of it. Gotta make sure you can handle it” he chuckles, “then again, the thought of fucking you so hard you pass out from how good it is sounds so fucking fun.”

“A-anothER time, oh, fuck.” He cranes his head back, Barclay slamming their lips together as he spills up into him. They keep kissing as the hand on his hip skates down to his cock. 

“Waitwait” he leans forward, moving the map and his notes from the path of possible ejaculation.

“Always so neat and tidy, pretty boy.” Barclay rumbles, biting his ear and stroking him so roughly his toes curl. 

“It’s im-impor, ohfuckit.” He gasps, cumming across Barclay’s hand and the front of the table. 

He slumps, heart pounding louder than the cheers of the nearby circus. Barclay lifts him enough to pull out before cradling him close once more. 

“Fuck, I love you.”

He turns his head the moment Barclay says those words. 

“You do?”

(Lord, of all the questions, why that one?)

“Yeah.” Barclay says softly, a hand coming up to brush his cheek, “I really think I do.”

Stern rests his hand atop Barclay’s, draws all his focus away from his mind and onto his heart. Tries to find a better word for what he feels when he looks at him. When he thinks of him. 

“I love you too. Or” he smiles, “if this isn’t love, I have no idea what is.”

He thought he’d learned every one of Barclay’s kisses. But this is a new kind, energy sparking between them, Barclay growling and purring as he guides Stern to the bed, their lips meeting over and over, each time pressing together as if Barclay is memorizing every inch of them. 

“I love you.” He says again, can’t remember how he came to be on his back, Barclay surrounding him, sheltering him like a home. 

Another kiss, not as urgent but just as powerful, before Barclay replies, “I love you too. Partner.”

\---------------------------------------------------

“This don’t make any goddamn sense.” Mama, hands on hips, surveys the mostly empty lot, the sea spreading out to her right, “the gate can’t open in water. Why does it keep pointin us down.”

“Working on it” Barclay crawls on his belly, crystal hanging like a pendulum from his fingers. 

“As am I.” Indrid’s focus remains on his sketchpad, trying to bring the futures into order, trying to see the path that will lead them to their quarry. 

A hand grabs his shoulder, tugs him gently back. He realizes he nearly stepped off the pier.

“Don’t much feel like fishin you out.” Duck says, without a trace of annoyance. 

“Still nothing.” Aubrey and Dani emerge from the sole building that seems plausible, “it gets weaker the farther up we go.” 

“Damn. Okay.” Barclay sits up, rubbing his forehead, then takes the hand Joseph offers him. 

“Maybe we oughta go back and get Ned and them. More eyes might help.”

“Startin to agree with you Duck. Then again, unless this fuckin thing is buried at the center of the earth or somethin, I think we’re at a dead end.”

“Buried…that’s it!” Joseph grabs Barclay excitedly, “The underground city!”

“The what?” Barclay looks worried that his boyfriend has lost his marbles. 

“There were passageways and buildings here when the city was first built. But then the streets were elevated, creating sort of a ghost city after a time. I read about it in _American Oddities and Unexplainables_.”

Duck nods, “Huh, gotta say, if I were tryin to hide a gate, I’d put it-”

“There.” Finally the futures clarify, and Indrid points at the house Aubrey and Dani came from, “if we go in there and break down a small door at the back, we will find a rather precarious ladder to the underground.” He’s already walking, and the others follow, only stopping when they reach the door. He steps back with a sweeping bow in Duck’s direction.

The strongman steps forward, shoves his shoulder into the door, and promptly cracks it off the frame. 

“Shoulda brought a flashlight.” He gazes down into the dark.

“Way ahead of you.” A flame flickers up in Aubrey’s palm, and she descends the ladder with a flourish. 

They all make it down in one piece, though the ladder creaks worryingly under Barclay as he brings up the back of the group. 

“Got the crystal honey?” Aubrey whispers from the front.

“Got it.” Dani holds it out, and they move carefully forward, Indrid able to predict their path to some degree, past run-down storefronts and beneath amethyst panes of glass. 

Dani suddenly pauses, both she and Barclay tilting their heads, listening. 

“You hear something?” Mama can barely be heard herself. 

“Might just be wind. Emphasis on might.” Barclay answers. 

“Hair on the back of my neck just went up.” Duck mutters beside him. 

He shuts his eyes, trying to concentrate, trying to see. This is his purpose, this is his power. He can’t fail them, not this time. 

Dread coils in his chest. 

“In three minutes, the acolytes of whoever we are chasing will emerge to capture us. For what purpose, I do not know. We should run.”

They run, twisting and turning back towards the entrance, feet catching on strewn boards and chipped cement. Joseph stumbles, Barclay doubling back to help him, leaving Duck at the front, just ahead of Indrid. 

Sixty-five percent of the futures end in capture.

“Faster would be ideal!”

A blast of heat behind him; Aubrey, seeing the first limbs emerge and blasting them back.

“Whoever can get, get, come back for the rest of us.” Mama, stopping, turning, raising her gun. 

“There, just ahead-shit!” A thud of body on stone as one, glowing arm gets a hold of Barclay. 

Ninety percent of futures end in capture. 

He can’t look back, that would bring them to one hundred percent, but he hears Joseph trying to free Barclay before both men fall silent. Further behind, a shotgun hits the ground.

“Mama!” Dani’s voice

“Both of you run!”

“We’re not-”

“Aubrey, watch-”

“Fuck, ah, get off!” 

“Let her go!” Dani’s voice is a snarl. 

Duck starts to turn, to look back.

“Don’t! Don’t, our only chance is to keep going, one of us has to make it out!”

Arms, glowing and white, emerge from the walls on either side of Duck, the bodies starting to follow. 

Indrid rips off his glasses. Fingers tug at his feathers. 

He flaps forward, grabbing Duck as he flies, shielding him as he bursts through to floor and out into the dying daylight. Flying as fast as he can, thankful for the rain keeping many who might see him inside, he speeds towards the boarding house. 

It’s only when he lands that he notices the blood on his wing. His own, mercifully.

“Fuck.” Duck looks back the way they came. “Fuck.”

“Agreed. But all is not lost. For starters, our friends are capable.” He touches the doorknob, turning it, “and we have re…”

A future appears, far too late. 

“We have another problem.” Glancing back at Duck, he finds him apprehensive but ultimately unafraid.

“We can try another option. But it leaves all our friends in far greater danger.”

“Open the door.”

He does, and the two of them walk the short path to the dining room. 

There, surrounded by a dozen armed men, are Ned, Minerva, Jake, and Leo. Ned in particular looks terrified, which may have something to do with the tall, tattooed man whose hand is on the back of Ned’s neck. 

“I’m sorry fellas.” Leo says, eyes flicking towards a furious Minerva, “they told us that if we put up any kind of warnin to you or put up a fight, they’d shoot you as soon as you walked in.”

The final figure in the scene steps behind them, and they turn as one to face him. 

“Mr. Cold, Mr. Newton” Hayes smiles coldly, hands folded behind his back, “I believe it’s time we three had a little talk.”


	15. Reckoning and Reconciliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aubrey shines. Duck keeps silent. Stern looks for an index.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content note: Indrid and Duck are interrogated in this chapter. It's not graphic, and it's brief, but I wanted to give a heads up.

Joseph comes to, to the scraping of his own shoes on cement. The figure that grabbed him, or one of them anyway, is dragging him down a corridor, the only light coming from the glow of it and it’s companions. 

Craning his neck, he spots Barclay just ahead of him. The creature behind him is carrying Dani, thought even it is not taking much care to avoid her arms or legs bumping the walls. 

The overall lack of care they’re showing in getting them to their destination doesn't strike him as an auspicious sign of what’s going to happen when they get there. 

Up ahead the tunnel widens and soon he’s dragged, then unceremoniously dropped, onto the floor of a large, circular room. At the center of it stand five human figures, with many more in shadows, lighting candles in a pattern on the floor. 

“You have done well.” One says, addressing the glowing beings, “you are dismissed for the time being.”

“Shall we begin now?”

“No. Wait until they are all awake.”

Barclay stirs, and Joseph crawls on his belly over to him, checking for injuries as he comes to. Aubrey sits up with a groan, scrambling to a waking Dani before even bothering to look around. 

Mama rolls onto her shoulder, “Christ, I’m gettin too old for this work.”

“We happen to agree, Madeline Cobb.”

At the sound of her name, Mama’s head snaps up to regard the group at the center of the room. 

“Yeah, well, y’all only got yourselves to blame for me not retirin.” She stands, and when one of the figures moves towards her Barclay is in front of her before Stern even sees him move. 

“Sooo, why the fuck did you kidnap us?” Aubrey helps Dani up.

“Because, Aubrey Little, your so-called Pine Guard has impeded our work for far too long. Tonight is a momentous occasion, and we cannot risk your interference. We need you where we can watch you. Where we can do away with you for all the trouble you have caused us.”

“Who’s this ‘we’ you keep talkin about?” Mama crosses her arms.

“I, and those you see here with me, are all that remains of the Order of the Glorious Reconciliation.”

“Not to be like a broken record but: what?” Aubrey spots white hands emerging from the walls again, and steps closer to Mama. 

“Years ago, our founder, a man of great occult ability, stumbled upon a way to create a gate to another, higher plane of reality, One represented by this symbol” the man holds up a book, it’s cover etched with the insignia of Sylvain.

“He sensed great power there and took a piece of the plane home with him, hoping to learn it’s secrets. The next time he opened the gate, he sensed a great and terrible darkness, and he understood. This other world was home to the great ones, those that would eventually come forth to rid this sinful world of it’s violence and filth.”

“That was a powerful goddess he saw, but she’s got nothing to do with Earth.” Barclay glowers, “she’s the other half of our home. A planet, by the way, not any of this plane stuff you’re talking about. And she’s been growing every since Sylvain began dying.”

“Which” Dani adds, growling, “it sounds like your founder caused.”

“Whatever he did, it was for the best. To reconcile the imbalance of the world.”

“Bullshit it was! Do you have any idea how much of our home is dead? How many of us died with it?” He's never heard Barclay so angry.

“That is no worry of ours.”

Barclay snarls, ripping off his bracelet, only for glowing hands to emerge from the floor and yank him to the ground.

“For years now” the leader continues, “we have tried to bring the dark one to it’s fullest, bring it through. So far we were only able to bring through a resident of that dimension-”

“Planet” Joseph corrects, only for a hand to pull him to the ground as well.

“-At a time. The process often makes it more powerful, more capable of cleansing this world. For years we kept our temple in Kepler, but the Pine Guard became too clever, too capable. You figured out how to open the gate on your own, how to talk with the weaker, traitorous residents of that plane and plot against us. So we sought to outwit you. It was out luck that our founder also created a spell to dampen the abilities of that troublesome seer aiding you, and even grow a plant to impede them more intensely when need be. They cloaked us for many years, once even allowing us to let a large piece of the dark one through before you all forced it back. But tonight…tonight all is aligned for us to bring the dark one through in full, to let it flood the world. Tonight, you will not stop us.”

The center of the room begins to glow, and as Aubrey and the others try to move forward each is grabbed and held in place. Aubrey tries burning her way free, but a new limb always emerges to replace the burnt one. Barclay bites and slashes at them, with the same results. 

A crack forms in the air and Joseph feels rage flooding over him, as if whatever is on the other side has never known another emotion. 

“Ah, it seems an emissary has come ahead.”

“More like snuck through” Barclay mutters.

Heavy footsteps as a humanoid form steps through the gap. In its hand, dragging on the ground, is a spiked club, one that reminds him of a walking stick. 

The figure raises its head and his friends gasp, recognizing something in the blank face and blackened eyes that he does not. 

From behind him, Mama’s voice cracks with sorrow.

“Arlo Thacker, what in god's name have they done to you?”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Now, this makes for a much nicer conversation, doesn’t it?” Hayes is somewhere behind the chair Duck is handcuffed to, but he’s not all that interested in him. All he cares about is Indrid, currently cuffed to a chair on the other side of the room. They’re facing each other, two officers flanking each of them. Indrid’s glasses are still on, making it hard to read his flat expression. 

“I have questions. If you answer them without trouble, this will all be smooth as silk. If you don’t cooperate, we’ll have to ask them again. And again. Until you answer us.” 

It’s strange. There are familiar gestures he associates with Joseph, a sweep of the hand here, a quirk of the lip there, that mapped from father to son. The same amount of steel in the eyes; but none of the warmth underneath. 

“We can answer one question easily, though I suspect it is not the one you intend to ask first.” Indrid tilts his head, his wide smile spreading, matching Hayes' insincerity, “Joseph is doing well. Or, as well as the rest of us, I suppose.”

“You realize that will not remove the charge of kidnapping.”

“Indeed. I merely wished to prevent any feelings of paternal worry.” 

Hayes lifts an unamused eyebrow before turning back to Duck. 

“Mr. Newton, I’ll start with you. Why has Amnesty had such an erratic path across the country?”

“Because we’re, uh, we’re a circus. Uh, we go where we gotta.” 

Hayes inclines his head at his men. Duck braces for the blow that will be his punishment. 

He hears the slap, but doesn’t feel it.

Instead, Indrid’s head whips to one side, red patch spreading on his skin. 

“Try again.” Hayes commands. 

Indrid shakes his head slightly. 

“I told you the truth. We go where we gotta. Don’t, uh, don’t know why we gotta have a reason beyond that.”

Hayes sighs. 

Indrid gasps as a fist connects with his stomach. Duck fights the urge to lunge forward, to snap the cuffs. 

“Let’s try this another way. Are you aware that there are a string of deaths that track to Amnesty’s path?”

“Uh, fuck, uh, no.”

Another strike to Indrid’s cheek. When he comes back up it’s only because Duck is watching his face that he sees him mouth, “hush.”

“You’re lying, Mr.Newton. Tell me the truth.”

He stays silent. 

“Taking the fifth, Mr. Newton?”

He doesn’t even move his head this time, doesn't want to give anything away.

One of the officers flanking Indrid grabs his arm, pressing his thumb into the gash left from his flight out of the underground. Indrid chirrs in pain, thrashing, clearly not seeing it coming. 

Hayes watches Duck. Duck clenches his hands, bites the inside of his lip. 

“Alright then, Mr.Cold. Perhaps you can tell us what we need to know.”

“Doubtful.”

A blackjack hits Duck’s thigh. He curses, watches Hayes advance on Indrid.

“If you wanted our cooperation, this was not the way to obtain it.” Indrid is panting, but resolute.

“I will get my answers one way or another.”

“Don’t fuckin count on it. I’m real fuckin tough.” Duck growls. 

Hayes doesn’t look at him, stares Indrid down as he says, “Ross, Harker, break Mr. Newton’s nose. If that doesn’t compel Mr.Cold to tell us the truth, break his right hand next.”

He’s durable, he’s strong. But his bones will still break if they hit them enough times. And that process is going to hurt more than anything has before, that he's certain of.

“You will not be doing anything of the sort. I will tell the truth.” Indrid says calmly. 

“Glad you’re seeing reason.”

A grin, unnerving even to Duck, moves across Indrid’s face. 

“The truth is that there are things in this world you do not understand. Amnesty is part of them. _I_ am part of them. You have called me Indrid Cold. But that is not the only name by which I am known.”

Red glasses hit the floor and Indrid’s Sylph form rises, cuffs clattering into pieces, his wings spreading to fill the room as he clicks his claws.

“I am the Kepler Devil. And you have all made a grave mistake.”

Duck snaps the chain on the cuffs, tackles the officer who’s fastest on the draw, knocking him to the ground before his gun is even out of the holster. Indrid grabs the two men beside him and hurls them into the wall with a shriek.

“Now, Hayes, unless you wish me to do the same to you, I believe it is your turn to cooperate with us…”

\-----------------------------------------  
The crash from above makes all the occupants of the dining room look up. 

The officer closest to Leo Tarkesian does not even have time to regret not tying his hands together. He hits the ground too fast.

Minerva kicks the table over, the officers on the other side scattering and the contents rolling and breaking on the floor. The vase of white flowers flies far enough to land in the fire, crackling on impact. 

One man foolishly rushes the strongwoman, and she easily flips him up and over her, sending him through the window. 

“Leo, duck!” 

He does, and Jake swings the fireplace poker, knocking out yet another officer. 

“That is hardly chivalrous!” Minerva scolds an officer as she rips a gun from his hand, tossing it to Leo before drunk tossing the man down the hall like a bowling ball. 

“Jake!” Leo kicks him a pistol, “go get Ned! Duck and Indrid can handle themselves.”

Jake picks up the weapon, looks at Leo sheepishly, “Uh….I never learned how to use a gun.”

\----------------------------------------------

Three minutes before the fight breaks out, Ned Chicane is sitting on his bed, Boyd’s checkered handkerchief tied across his mouth.

“For once in your life, you’re gonna keep bloody quiet and let me have my say.” Was the explanation given for this action.

“....Left me! You left me in the bloody getaway car! Why should I give a flyin’ fuck what happens to you know? That police chief’s gonna clear my rap sheet, get me offa parole, and I can finally fuckin go home.”

Ned rolls his eyes.

“What? You think I’m breakin some kind of code of honor? Maybe, but I don’t fuckin care. You _abandoned me_ Edmund, went off to the closest you could get to a respectable life and didn’t even send me a bloody postcard!” Boyd whirls and--in spite of the fact it has never happened before-- for a moment Ned fears he’ll hit him. 

Instead, he takes a deep breath, letting out through grit teeth as he says, “I thought you’d be waitin’ for me when I got out back in West Virginia. Thought you’d pick me up, send a message sayin where to meet. Didn’t realize I was so bloody forgettable.”

Ned tries looking sorry. Boyd ignores him.

“I shoulda stayed put. But I broke parole to track you down. S’why it was so easy to track you and your merry band here when the coppers couldn’t; had a lot of practice followin your path, and I know your tricks. Glad knowin you was finally useful.”

“Mphmmin”

“Shut up, Edmund.”

“Mesphhin.” Ned stamps his foot until Boyd looks his way, growling and ripping the fabric away.

“What?”

“He’s lying, Boyd. Surely you know that.”

“Who, Hayes? Ain’t no point in him doin that. I got him what he wanted, and I ain’t some bigshot crook. No harm in lettin me go like he said. Not even I’d go back on a deal like that.”

“You are a better man than he is.”

Worry flickers on Boyd’s face, “This is just more of your bullshit.”

“It is not, dear Boyd. I wish it was. But if you assist him, I suspect you will end up in a jail cell along with the rest of us. If you assist us, I can guarantee everything but your, uh, physical safety, at least for the time being. We are in a bit of an apocalyptic fix at the moment.”

A glare, though he can tell Boyd is thinking it over. 

“I am trying to be honest, my friend.”

“....Fine, but-”

A crash, followed by a shriek, rings out above them.

“What in the bloody hell?”

“At a guess, our fortune teller has lost his patience. Come, they made need our assistance.”

“Ned Chicane runnin into a fight. Never thought I’d see the day.” Boyd grumbles, following him out the door all the same, then stops him and reaches into his pocket, “they wouldn’t give me a gun. You want the brass knuckles, or should I use ‘em?”

“You were always a wonder with them.” Ned replies, climbing the stairs as Boyd slips the weapon on. 

What they find on the third floor are many unconscious bodies, and a police chief tied up on the floor. 

“Christ!” Boyd steps back when he notices Indrid.

“Ah, I see you made the right choice. Ned was quite right, you know; Hayes went back on his word in all futures. Those are back, by the way, though I cannot say why. Now, come along, we are running out of time.”

They step aside as Indrid and Duck exit the room, the Sylph continuing, “It seems the ones who captured our friends intend to release the whole Quell at once. Which will, due to the pressure and energy being concentrated in such a narrow opening, functionally implode the earth if it is allowed to happen.”

“How long do we have?” Duck waves Leo and Minerva towards the front door.

“We have fifteen minutes this time. Let us hope it is enough.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

Thacker advances on the trapped Pine Guard.

“Now you listen here, Arlo: I don’t know if it’s the Quell or these fuckers who’ve done this, but you gotta fight it. Christ, Arlo, don’t make us fight you.” Mama’s voice draws his attention to her, and as he turns the club begins to lift. 

Then he freezes, growling and thrashing in place. Stern looks around, finds Aubrey with her eyes shut, hands aimed towards Thacker, the air around her shimmering.

“Deal with the witch.” The leader snaps, and one of the other robed figures leaves the shadows.

It does not reach Aubrey. Instead, Dani slips off her wedding ring, growing larger and fiercer, teeth sharpening before Stern’s eyes. Then she lunges, ripping free of her captors long enough to attack.

Blood hits the ground shortly after.

“Wait, a vampire? _Vampires_ are real too?”

“Later, babe.” Barclay bites down on a glowing arm, managing to get free for a few seconds before another emerges to restrain him.

“It is useless, Pine Guard. Our acolytes are legion and can only be dispelled by a great enchanter.”

“Aubrey?” Barclay says hopefully.

“Little busy!” Thacker thrashes and she nearly loses her control over him. 

“She would be no help anyway. She is nothing compared to our power.”

“I would caution you not to discount her.” A voices lilts from the dark hall, “but since she is preoccupied…”

A whoosh of orange light ripples through the chamber, the white figures dissolving when it touches them. 

In the remaining light of the candles, an immense, winged creature enters the room, red eyes glowing.

It promptly collapses face-first on the floor with an exhausted groan.

“I’ll be fine in a moment, that was merely a great deal of energy to use at once.”

It’s the wave of the hand, telling the figures in the darkness to go on, that makes the pieces fall into place: he’s looking at Indrid. 

Duck, Ned, Minerva, Leo, and a man he doesn’t recognize emerge, brandishing a variety of weapons.

“Now, look here y’all, if you open that gate and let the whole damn thing through at once, it’s gonna crush the earth like a tin can. So how about you blow out those lights and set that book down like reasonable folks?”

“If this is truly the end of the Earth, Duck Newton, then it is because it is fated to be so.” The leader proclaims. 

“Hate it when people say shit like that.” Duck grumbles, before charging the cult members rushing towards him. 

In the flurry of the fight, two things happen simultaneously that cause their attackers to cheer. One is the gate, opening now to show even more of the swirling black and red mass. The other is Aubrey slowly levitating off the ground, her eyes glowing deep orange, which causes her to lose he grip on Thacker.

The possessed man lunges at Mama, who ducks out of the way of his blow and shoves him backwards with her shoulder.

“If someone could get that book, it would be most helpful!” Indrid yells before throwing himself onto a cult member trying to sneak up on Duck.

Stern spies it laying on the floor near the gate, the leader having dropped it when Dani barreled into him. 

He flips it open, dodges a badly thrown punch and throws his own--far superior- one.

“Thank the lord it has diagrams.” He murmurs, taking in the foreign language before him.

“We have two minutes until collapse!” Indrid, for the first time, sounds panicked. 

“I need someone who speaks Sylph!” 

“Right here.” Barclay is behind him, blood sticky in his fur, “which one is it.”

He turns pages frantically, “I’m not certain, I can’t find one to close it.”

“Ninety seconds!”

“Fuck! Uh, um…” He recalls Aubrey’s theory, her dreams about the Quell, and finds the page he hopes is right. “Try this one.”

Barclay reads the incantation, the words sounding to Sterns ears like something one might hear in the south seas. 

“Somethin’s still comin through!” Mama yells from atop a pinned, enraged Thacker.

The tendrils of the Quell emerge, but as they do, they take shape, trying very hard to be human, to be small, taking the pressure off the gate.

“Oh thank goodness.” Indrid gasps. 

**Please** The Quell speaks without opening her mouth, holds her hands out to Aubrey.

Aubrey drifts to her, eyes still glowing. The Quell takes both her hands, then cups her cheek. 

“Don’t-” Dani stops speaking when the Quell raises her hand to indicate silence. 

**I am here. Come home.**

The Quell takes a few steps back. As she does a figure, orange and bright, steps out of Aubrey. The young woman stumbles back out of her trance, and Stern steadies her as another voice fills the room. 

_Thank you. All of you. For protecting me and my beloved planet. Thank you, Aubrey Little, for carrying you with me all these years._ She gestures to the pendant, no longer glowing as bright around Aubrey’s neck. 

“Holy shit, I’ve been carrying a goddess around.”

Sylvain smiles then says, _A final favor. Until we meet again._

She raises her hand and the remaining members of reconciliation fall to the ground, unconscious. 

Beneath Mama, Thacker raises his head, dazed.

“Maddy? What the hell happened to me?”

“Long story. And you know I hate that nickname.” She responds before bear-hugging him.

**I am sorry, Arlo Thacker. You were a casualty of my anger and grief. Of these others machinations. I ask your forgiveness.**

“Uh, sure. I think. Can I have a few minutes to sort my mind out first?”

The Quell grins **Of course. You will be able to reach me when you are ready.**

The goddesses step hand in hand into the gate, looking back as one.

_**Thank you.** _

With that, the gate disappears. 

“Thank fuckin god that’s over.” Duck slumps onto the ground as Dani runs to embrace her wife. 

“Agreed. You were very brave, my love.” Indrid kneels, drawing his wings around Duck.

“Still gonna fuckin kill Hayes for what he did to you.”

“My _father_ is here? Oh lord, oh my lord, we are so very, very-”

“Breathe, babe.” Barclay puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Your father is taken care of for the moment. However, I think it wise to think of a way to, ah, appease his thirst for a case to his name. Thoughts? You know him best, after all.”

Stern looks around, takes in his battered friends and the even worse for wear Reconciliation. 

“You know, I may have just the thing….”


	16. Partners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stern scolds. Duck brings flowers. Barclay is proud.

Having to talk to his irate, bruised father while still sporting injuries from being dragged and grabbed and nearly experiencing the end of the world is the sort of thing that would have terrified him a week ago. 

Instead, Stern spends the better part of a half hour scolding his father for breaking so many laws in so few days, and that he never wants to hear a bad word about his own life choices from him ever again.

While this is immensely satisfying, it is not what gets the police off their trail.

Because William Hayes Stern is a proud man, the kind of man unwilling to back down from a case that could further enrich his reputation. The kind of man who would gladly take credit for the tracking and arrest of a dangerous cult with many deaths on its hands (that the cult was compelled to speak the truth courtesy of a spell from Aubrey Little was not information he was given).

In exchange for the case of a lifetime, he agrees to two things: one, to not mention the supernatural nature of certain individuals to anyone. And two, to leave Amnesty and all its members alone from here on out. 

When the officers depart, remaining cult members in tow, Amnesty gathers, trying to decide what to do next. 

“Sorry about the dinin' room, Leo. And, uh, our room upstairs.” Duck surveys the damage to the inn. 

“Eh, it ain’t the worst damage this place has seen. Besides, those rooms need redoin anyway. Though I ain’t lookin forward to organize it all. Bein' a sword swallower is a hell of a lot easier than runnin this place.”

Duck glances over into the parlor, where Mama is sitting with Thacker, the two talking in quiet, earnest tones.

‘Y’know, Leo, think I know just the person to help you.”

\--------------------------------------------------

October is often a dead season for circuses. But on the Seattle pier, the bright colors and flashing lights announce the spectacular stylings of Tarkesian and Company remain, providing amusements and wonders to residents and visitors all year long. 

The circus is readying itself for yet another evening. Minerva stretches out, preparing for her act as resident strongwoman. Leo cleans his props, Jake checks the placement of his highdive. Aubrey finishes applying her make-up as Dani fits the tiny, red bowtie onto Dr. Harris Bonkers, PhD. The women are the night's much-publicized act, as the Lady Flame is returning to the stage after a brief break to visit family (Dani’s family, on the other side of the operational, but now safely controlled, gate to Sylvain).

In the Cryptonomica, Ned wipes down the display cases before tossing hay to the now fully grown Jackalopes, one of which has--to the confusion of everyone--actually grown horns. He pretends not to notice Boyd sneak into the room, smiles when the taller man drapes an arm over his shoulders. The ex-thief is thoroughly enjoying his stint as the Illustrated Man, his own tattoos augmented with an enchanted earring. 

A block away, Mama opens the doors to the dining room at Amnesty Lodge, a beloved spot for those on their way to the circus or looking for a good meal at a low price. A handwritten sign in the window advertises rooms for rent. Several of the lodges more permanent residents come downstairs to join the meal. 

And on the pier, near the main tent, a new sign unfurls across the fortune teller’s shop.

_Visit the Magnificent Msr. Luna Before He Vanishes!_

“'Vanishes' seems a bit dramatic, sugar. It’s just a honeymoon.” Duck steps into the small back room, where Indrid is shuffling his Tarot deck.

“And a house hunt, but yes, such is the risk of letting Ned ‘Exaggeration’ Chicane design something.”

“Still can’t believe the city hired me on as an arborist. Feels like a lifetime ago I was trainin' to do that. Christ it’ll be nice to not have to worry about gettin grabbed by some monster or another.”

“Agreed. Have you heard back from Jane?”

“She’s a mite displeased with me for elopin', again, but she’s gonna bring the nephews out here before Christmas so they can meet their new uncle.” 

“Wonderful.” Indrid chirps, the cocks his head, “you came for a reason, didn’t you?”

“Just to give you these.” Duck produces several roses from behind his back (red, not white, as Indrid remains wary of white flowers ever since discovering it was those, sold to Duck on the journey north and snuck into a vase at the lodge, that wrecked his powers).

“Very thoughtful, my love.” Indrid rubs as petal between his fingers, then grins flirtatiously, “such a generous gift. Will you allow me to give you something in exchange?”

“‘Drid, we don’t got time-”

“Not that kind of exchange. There will be ample time for that on the honeymoon. But perhaps...I can read your cards?”

Duck chuckles, “Sure thing, sugar.”

Indrid sets the flowers down on the table, draws the repaired pink and gold shawl around his shoulders with a flourish. 

“Tell me then, oh handsome visitor to this tent, what you wish to know.”

“Think you know what’s on my mind.”

Indrid shuffles the deck, his eyes never leaving Duck’s, and pulls three cards: the ten of cups (a worn wooden table, laid with ten glasses), the sun (yet another thinly veiled version of Duck, laying in grass beneath a sunny sky), and the four of wands (garden stakes with vines coiling up them, steady and strong).

“Well?” Duck reaches across the table, drawing his finger along Indrid's hand.

“You tell me, my apt pupil.” 

Duck glances down long enough to take in the cards, “Seems like me and my fella are gonna have one hell of a long, happy marriage.”

“Correct.” Indrid takes his hands, “though I do not need to see the future to know that is true. I just need to see the man before me.”

Duck leans across the table, Indrid’s lips meeting his own in a kiss more tender than even their first was. 

“Well then, ain’t we just a lucky pair.”

“You know, my love, I do believe we are.”

\-------------------------------------------------------

Several blocks away is a pair that would argue they were equally lucky. That is, if they weren't preoccupied. 

“Now, Barclay, what did I tell you not to do last night?”

“Bite you.”

“And what did you do?”

“Bit you.” Barclay doesn’t sound the least bit chagrined as Stern circles him, wearing all but the jacket of his “keeper” uniform. Barclay is human, for the time being, kneeling on the ground and bent forward over a cedar chest. His shirt is off, and Stern drags the riding crop down the muscles of his back. They’ve forgone the horsewhip for anything except the show itself (which they do only occasionally when business is lagging), after a mistimed strike cut Barclay’s cheek. 

“Do you have anything to say for yourself, big guy?”

“It was worth it, love hearing you squealOWfuck.” Barclay arches when the crop hits the back of his thigh. Then he moans, pressing his ass back as if begging for more. 

This is Stern’s favorite discovery of the last few months; while he likes pain plenty during sex, Barclay _loves_ it.

“An actual apology is the only thing getting your cock touched tonight.”

Barclay thinks for a moment, then says, “I’m sorry.” 

Stern smiles, steps close enough to pet that auburn hair. 

“Sorry you look so good with bite marks.” Is the mumbled addition. 

Stern brings the crop down on Barclay’s ass, hard, then yanks his hair for good measure. 

“You know” another strike “if you wanted me to use the crop” and another, “you could simply ask.” 

“S’more fun this way.” Barclay slurs with pleasure.

“True” he strikes twice, fast and hard.

“Fuck” Barclay moans, “fuck, babe, please, I want it on my shoulders, wanna feel it all over.”

“You only get to decide where I hit you when you behave. So, no.”

Another, much louder moan, Barclay pressing his face into the lid of the trunk. 

“You like that, don’t you Barclay? You like being at my command, even though you could snap me in two.”

“Yes, Joe, _fuck_ yes.”

“And yet you disobey when I tell you what to do.”

“O-only sometimes, fuck, Joe” he turns his head, cheek resting on wood so he can gaze pleading up at him, “I’ll do whatever you want, I’ll fuck you so good, be so good, babe, please.”

Stern reaches out with the crop, presses it under Barclay’s chin, forcing him to look up, then to sit up. 

“It’s so nice, having such a needy beast under my power.”

“Never wanna be anywhere else.” Barclay whimpers. 

Stern sits down on the chest, unbuckles his belt and undoes his pants, pulling his cock out.

“You’re salivating, big guy.” 

“No I’m n--oh shit” Barclay laughs a little, wipes the corner of his mouth, “now you know I’m not kidding when I say you look like a goddamn feast.”

“Never doubted it.” He strokes Barclay’s cheek, smiling softly, then says sternly, “now, if you’re not going to apologize, put your mouth to use some other waAYoohhhhh yes, that’s perfect.” Barclay drags his tongue along his cock, sucking at the head until Sterns toes curl.

“So good, that’s so good handsome, fuck, good lord you mouth is perfect for fucking.”

Barclay groans, bumps his head against Sterns hand. He knows that signal well. He threads his fingers into Barclay’s hair, tugging gently at first. That earns him a low, rumbly purr.

Then he yanks Barclay’s head down his cock, forcing him to stay in place with a firm grip on his hair. That gets a symphony of moans and whimpers, large hands coming up to paw his thighs and ass. 

“Good boy.” He growls, fucking up into an obedient mouth over and over again, not caring when pressing past the resistance of his throat causes Barclay to gag; they have a signal for this for a reason, so he can fuck with abandon and Barclay can submit to as much pain as he can handle. 

“That’s it handsome, let’s see you try to growl at me tomorrow with a throat sore from my cock. Fuck, Barclay, it’s so tight like this, your mouth is so good, what, what do you think, big guy, can you take a load of spend without choking?”

Barclay tries to nod, whimpers eagerly. 

“You’d better, you know I hate a mess, oh, oh lord, oh fuck Barclay, fuck, love, yes _yes_.” He holds Barclay’s head down, cumming and feeling his throat tighten trying to swallow it down. Halfway through the motion Barclay chokes, and Stern releases his head instantly just in case he needs to pull away. He doesn’t right away, instead draws his head up slowly, licking as he goes. When he rests his head on Sterns thigh, the younger man doubles over so he can cradle him and kiss his back and shoulders.

“Do you want to keep going?” He whispers.

“Uhhuh, fuck babe.” Barclay kisses his thigh. 

Stern lets go of him, waits until he sits back on his heels. 

“Well, I’m going to bed. You are staying there” he points at the cedar chest, “until you apologize or morning comes. I was going to let you sleep by the bed, but you choked.”

“But-” brown eyes are wide and wet, and he turns away from them dismissively. Stern takes off his shoes and socks, lays down in bed and stares at Barclay expectantly until he bends back over the trunk. Then he turns out the bedside lamp.

He doesn’t sleep, couldn’t even if he wanted to. The anticipation of the next part, the part he’s known was coming ever since Barclay bit him yesterday, has him buzzing like neon.

The minutes tick by and slowly, so very slowly, a growl fills the room. 

Stern shuts his eyes. The growl grows louder and footfalls approach the bed. When he opens his eyes Barclay, now in his Sylph form, is looming at the bottom of it. 

He shudders, breath stuttery as butterfly flight.

“What’s wrong, pretty boy? Scared?” Barclay grins, fangs glinting in the streetlight sneaking in one window. 

“No. Never scared of you. Just, uh, um disappointed. You disobeyed me again.”

Barclay shakes his head, laughing, “Oh, Joe. My sweet, clever keeper, don’t you get it?” He crawls onto the bed and up Stern’s body, cock hard and huge when it rubs along his thigh, “You never really control a beast. You only get whatever control it gives you. And if you get too cocky, that’s when you get into trouble.”

“And am I in trouble, big guy?”

Barclay leans down and growls in his ear, “Trouble? Babe, when I’m done, you’ll be _ruined_.”

A hand covers his mouth and he quickly discovers why; the sound he makes when Barclay bites his shoulder would have concerned neighbors at their door in an instant. 

The hand pulls back only for Barclay to slam their mouths together, tongue demanding and teeth nipping, the growl a constant vibration between them. Clawed hands pull and tug, ripping fabric filling the air. Stern twists and thrashes, making it easier for Barclay to shred his clothes. He whimpers with delight when the odd claw catches skin instead of fabric (it never cuts, Barclay always in control enough to keep him safe).

When his pants and underclothes are no more than threads and his shirt is comically tattered, Barclay sits up, reaches under the bed for a bottle of lubricant and dumping half of it onto his cock. Hooking a big hand under each knee and shoving Sterns legs apart, he smirks down at him as the head of his cock presses against his ass. 

“You wanted a beast, babe, you got one.”

“I w-wanted youoh, oh sweet lord in heaven that’s a lot.”

“A lot? That’s just the head, pretty boy.”

“Oh _lord_.” He groans, wiggling his hips in a bid to take more, “y-you know, I think my description of this as monstrous was accurate.”

“Yep.”Barclay shoves his hips forward

“Oh FUCK!” Stern arches off the bed as the whole thing enters him at once, “ohfuckohfuck, lord, Barclay.”

“Shhhh, just relax and take it, pretty boy.” He coos. One hand rests on his hip, but the other pauses, runs over his belly, “heh, you can even see it from here.”

Stern moans, legs starting to shake in Barclays grip.

“Yeah, you like that. Like knowing I could fucking break you on my cock and won’t. Now” the other hand grips his hip, “let’s see how you handle your monster.”

The cock drags half out before shoving back in, and Stern promptly loses all sense of time or place. His world becomes Barclay, magnificent and strong above him, the grunts and growls pouring from his mouth as he fucks him, the singular, deliciously overwhelming feeling of that cock driving into him, filling him. He goes limp, well aware his voice is making pathetic, happy sounds as Barclay fucks him so hard the bed shakes the wall. 

Given the pace, it’s not surprising that Barclay soon jerks his hips faster, groaning, “let’s see if your tight little ass can hold this, pretty boy.”

There’s a howlgrowl as Barclay tips back and Stern squirms as he cums inside him, though his hips aren’t released until Barclay finishes thrusting and pulls out with a wet, messy sound. 

They lay shaking in each other’s arms, until Barclay gets his breath back.

"Glad we made sure you prepped before we started?"

"Yes."

“That fit the bill?”

“That, that was incredible. You’re wonderful and I love you, oh, wait, are you alright too? I didn’t hit too hard?”

“Nope. Babe, I once got chucked several yards by a bear-monster and came out with only a scratch or two. I’m not Duck, but I’m pretty damn durable.”

Stern kisses him softly, murmurs, “thank you for all that.”

“Any time. You, uh, still wanna show me the office? Know we got kinda, um, distracted as soon as I got home from the dinner shift at the lodge.”

“Absolutely” Stern yawns, looks down at himself, “just, uh, let me wash off first.”

Fifteen minutes later, bathed and dressed, Stern and Barclay descend the stairs separating their second floor apartment from Stern’s first-floor office. The front door reads, in gold script on frosted glass: _J. Stern, Investigator of all things Paranormal, Occult, and Unexplained._

“Ta dah!” Stern flips on the light, twirling proudly, “I am officially an investigator.”

“Babe, you solved two cases before we even got you the office. Three if you count helping with Reconciliation.”

“I know, it’s just, I’ve never had an office all my own. Let alone one with so many certifications.” He points to the wall containing, among other things, a certification from the Society for Psychical Research and the Houdini Psychic Exposure Course. 

“I so fucking proud of you, Joe.” Barclay gathers him into a hug, nuzzles the top of his head, “you’re gonna be so fucking amazing. Gonna be the best at explaining, uh, unexplained stuff.”

“It _is_ a lifelong dream come true. Still…” he smiles at Barclay, “it’s only as exciting because I know I’ll be coming home to you each night. That we get to build a home together, a life just the way we want it, with no conditions from anyone else. We get to navigate the world together, face bad luck and good as a team.”

“In other words” Barclay kisses his temple, “we get to be partners.”

Stern's smile is full of all the promise of a thousand sunrises, “Exactly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end!
> 
> Thank you to everyone for reading. I know this basically turned into another novel-length story, but damn was it fun to write.


End file.
